REREAD <TR N ENETO 2 oath 


: 
SiN s 


—— 


Books by 
JIM TULLY 


BEGGARS OF LIFE 

JARNEGAN 

CIRCUS PARADE 

CHARLIE CHAPLIN 
(To be published in September) 


€é 

I F there is a writer in Amer- 
ica today who can lay hold 
of mean people and mean 
lives and tear ther mean 
hearts out with more ap- 
palling realism, his work is 
unknown to me.” 

—GEORGE JEAN NATHAN 


ae 


PARADE 


fe eM TULLY 


PA 


Illustrated by WILLIAM GROPPER 


NEW YORK 
THE LITERARY GUILD OF AMERICA 


1927 


Copyright, 1927, by 
ALBERT & CHARLES BONI, inc. 


MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 


To 


H. L. MENCKEN 
GEORGE JEAN NATHAN 
DONALD FREEMAN 
JAMES CRUZE 


and 


FREDERICK PALMER 


CIVILIZED COMRADES 
IN THE 
CIRCUS OF LIFE 


Contents 


The Lion Tamer 

Circus Parade 

Hey Rube! 

The Moss-Haired Girl 
Murder for Pity 

Tales are Told 
Without What? 

The Strong Woman 
“With Folded Hands Forever” 
Tiger and Lion Fight 
A Day’s Vacation 
Whiteface 

An Elephant Gets Even 
A Negro Girl 
Red-Lighted 

Surprise 

A Railroad Order 

The Last Day 

Later 


11 
125 
145 
1$7 
167 
185 
207 
a2) 
229 
239 
251 
261 
279 


[vii] 


I: The Lion Tamer 


T was my second hobo journey through Missis- 
sippi. After the first I had vowed never to re- 
turn, but Arkansas moonshine had changed my 
plans. Three times the first week I narrowly escaped 
arrest. Then hurrying toward Louisiana, I lost track 
of the days of the week and month. There was no 
_ need to know. I had, as the hoboes say, dragged a 
long haul from Hot Springs, Arkansas, to McComb 
City, Mississippi, some hundreds of miles. The lat- 
ter town is a sun-scorched group of frame houses 
stretched forlornly along the Illinois Central tracks, 
ninety miles from New Orleans. 

Half dazed from loss of sleep, weak from hunger, 
and irritated by vermin-infested clothes, I resolved 
to leave the road for a spell. The terrible Mississippi 
vagrancy law hung over me. Under that law an of- 
ficer is given two dollars and a half for every 
vagrant he captures alive. In other parts of the 
United States a tramp is not molested if he keeps 
off railroad property, but in Mississippi he is hunted 
up hill and down dale for the two dollars and fifty 
cents. 


[31] 


Circus Parade 


Once captured, he is given a fine of seventy-five 
dollars. Having no money, he is made to work the 
fine out—at twenty cents a day! This comes to about 
eleven months and twenty-nine days, allowing a 
few days for good behavior. But there is, further- 
more, a joker. The prisoner always needs clothing. 
He is charged three dollars for a fifty-cent pair of 
overalls, and seven dollars for a pair of dollar-and- 
a-quarter brogans. These debts are added to his sen- 
tence and worked out at twenty cents a day. It is no 
uncommon thing for a friendless man to spend sev- 
eral years as a peon in Mississippi. So I had reason 
to worry. : 

Life had been completely against me for weeks. 
I had, with the sincerest motives, left Hot Springs 
for the remoter Arkansas wilds with a pair of loaded 
dice in my pocket. I hoped to trade my virtuosity 
with them for the money which the blasé lumber- 
jacks had taken from the Lumber Interests. With 
this end in view I had actually worked two weeks 
at a camp near Pine Bluff. When pay-day came I 
started a crap game on the stump of an immense 
pine tree. To my befuddled consternation I lost 
every dime I had. And I had worked so hard for the 
money! Trekking wearily back to camp after the 
game, I felt sure that someone had cheated, but not 


[4] 


The Lion Tamer 


wishing to accuse anyone unjustly, I kept still. The 
Jewish manager of the company store had played. 

_ It was my intention to beg a few dollars and leave 
the camp next morning. But a cyclone, speeding 
hundreds of miles an hour, roared across the State. 
It broke large trees as though they were toothpicks 
in the hands of traveling salesmen. It was a swirl- 
ing funnel of doom. It sounded like the agitated 
rumbling of thousands of locomotives climbing a 
steep hill. We hurried to the cyclone cellars dug 
deep in the ground. The landscape next morning 
was as clean as a desert bone. I was drafted into the 
army of labor again. On my next pay-day I started 
another crap game in which the Jewish storekeeper 
played. I lost again. 

Downcast, I left Pine Bluff and finally reached 
McComb City. Not wishing to bother the police 
with my presence, I circled the town. Five miles 
beyond it I walked toward the railroad tracks again. 
I waited on a grade which freight trains would 
climb slowly. In about an hour a coatless Negro 
wearing a black satin shirt limped along the track. 
He whistled My country, ’tis of thee. 

“Which way, Patriot?’ I yelled. 

“Lawdy, boy—you sure skeert me. I done thought 
you was the law!” He laughed. “I’se on my way, 


[51 


Circus Parade 


brotheh, out of Mississip to Luziana. An bulieve me, 
boy, dey t’rows de key ’way on you when dey gets 
you heah. You bettah walk along wit’ me—lI’se 
headed south. Dey’s a circus oveh in Baton—an’ 
I’m a-trailin’ it.” 

Lonely, I joined the Negro and headed for Louisi- 
ana. He was a beggar who followed crowds—a pro- 
fessional trailer. When we reached New Orleans, he 
fell into the train of an evangelist who was pack- 
ing a tabernacle in the city. I went on to Baton 
Rouge and the circus. 

The ringmaster gave me a job helping take care 
of the animals. My duties were light, and my sense 
of freedom was enhanced by seeing the animals 
behind the bars. The man under whom I worked 
was known as the lion tamer. He helped me get 
clean clothing and new shoes. It was fully a week 
before I recovered from the punishment of the road. 
I soon realized that my Negro acquaintance had 
been wise in not trailing that circus. It already had 
too many trailers following it. 

Trailers are men who follow circuses or anything 
else that draws a crowd. They live by preying upon 
the people. Among the trailers with this circus 
were legless men called crawlers, who traveled with 
their bodies strapped to small wheeled platforms. 


[ol 


The Lion Tamer 


They propelled themselves with stirrups held in 
each hand. They literally walked with their hands. 
Each time they struck the ground with a stirrup 
the wheels rolled under them. There were, too, 
trailers born double-jointed, who twisted their 
bodies in every conceivable and grotesque manner. 
Hard faces they had, and they moaned with pain 
when anyone drew near who might give money. 
Other trailers there were who could play the part 
of blind men. Yet others knew how to twist their 
hands. 

One trailer carried a hard slice of bread with him. 
He would drop it on the sidewalk at a convenient 
place. When he saw a person approaching he would 
dive madly for the bread. This trick seldom failed 
to reap its reward. Another old trailer was a par- 
ticular pet of the lion tamer’s. I soon became at- 
tached to him also. He walked about, playing blind, 
tapping a crooked gnarled cane on the pavement. 
He would tap three times every ten or twelve feet. 
He wore a long tobacco-stained beard that reached 
to his belt. The whiskers hid all of his face but the 
eyes, over which his brows projected at least an 
inch. He belonged to the great body of men who 
write. As may be supposed he was not always tol- 
erant of other literati. Since his doggerel rhymed, 


[71 


Circus Parade 


he had a special scorn for writers of blank verse. 

“Them guys don’t say nothin’ an’ what they do 
say they don’t make no rhyme. They hain’t artists,” 
was the way he dismissed them. “Besides, they 
hain’t no money in blank verse. People don’t buy it. 
A fellow’s got to sell his stuff if he wants to eat. I 
wrote a lot o’ that damn blank verse one time, an’ 
I had to give it to a barber for a haircut. He used 
it for shavin’ paper. He’s just got through usin’ a 
swell big book of Shakespeare. Some critic give it 
to him.” 

This literary vagabond sold his own efforts for 
as low as ten cents a sheet. Playing the role of a 
neglected genius, he often begged large sums of 
money at the Southern colleges. . 

The lion tamer was the king of our small world. 
He was a lithe, two hundred pound Negro. Twice 
a day he went into a cage with six lions. Three of 
them were vicious and had killed several men. The 
strain of appearing with them told on his nerves. 
He kept up his courage with liquor. 

Save for helping me to obtain clothes and shoes, 
he did not unbend to me until we had journeyed 
along the Gulf of Mexico and as far inland as 
Beaumont, Texas. The circus was pitched near 
some oil wells in Beaumont. I told the lion tamer 


[8] 


The Lion Tamer 


something of the history of oil; I was from an oil 
section of Ohio. He was fascinated by the way 
wells were shot and the oil obtained. When I told 
him how nitro-glycerine was sent hundreds of feet 
into the earth and then exploded, and described 
the rush of the oil upward, he listened as though it 
were a fairy tale. 

From that day on we were close friends. Every 
trailer and flunky with the circus, it appeared, had 
told him a fascinating tale at some time or another. 
He was everybody’s friend. And yet his face was 
defiance carved in ebony. The more he drank the 
more it became stern and set. He never smiled. But 
he gave a great deal of his salary to the poor trailers. 

He was quick of movement and about six feet 
tall. He carried a musical instrument with him that 
was neither mandolin nor guitar. It was a contrap- 
tion he had made himself. Often, when the show was 
over, he would evoke from that instrument the 
weirdest music in the world. I used to watch him 
as he played. The dim light would reveal his face, 
as drawn as a long-trained bruiser’s. His music had 
a soothing effect on the animals, especially the lions. 
He would sit very still and play late into the night. 
The more he drank, the more weird his music be- 
came. No one ever complained. 


[ol 


Circus Parade 


"A little ex-jockey, in charge of the horses, would 
often come and listen. We would seldom talk. Now 
and then an animal would make a moaning noise. 
Once the old Homeric trailer went suddenly dotty 
for an instant and screamed aloud. The lion tamer 
soothed him. The next day he wrote another poem. 

One night the old trailer, the ex-jockey, the lion 
tamer and myself talked about death. 

“I never worry about dying,” said the lion tamer, 
“when the Big Guy yells my name I’ll go—that’s 
all.” 

Just the same he would drink heavily before 
entering the cages with the animals. Curious as to 
how he managed to control them, I asked him the 
secret. 

“It’s nothing,” he said. “You must always look 
an animal in the eye. They can tell by that how 
game you are. You never can fool them.” 

About three hundred miles from Beaumont a 
crowd gathered in front of a cage which contained 
two laughing hyenas and a brown bear. The bear 
was blind. It had lost its sight in a battle with a 
keeper who had wielded a fork. The spieler, with an 
imitation diamond in his red tie, began: 

“Ladies and Gentlemen! The first den contains 
the ferocious laughing hyenas and the largest brown 


[10] 


The Lion Tamer 


bear in all the world. Denna Wyoming, the world- 
famous African lion tamer, will now enter their 
cage and put them through their unique perform- 
ance.” 

I stood near the cage as Denna Wyoming came 
forward. I had never seen his face so stern. The 
breast of his blue velveteen coat was ornamented 
with many medals. He snapped a whip against his 
polished top boot. The band played. 

He swayed slightly as he bowed. The crowd ap- 
plauded. Wyoming’s lip curled. It was the little 
hour of glory for which he lived—and worried. 
The laughing hyenas and brown bear were unim- 
portant to him. It was his entrance into the lions’ 
cage that bothered him. The lions were already pac- 
ing excitedly up and down their iron prison next 
door. 

As the band played, Denna Wyoming slipped the 
bolt and entered the cage with the bear and hyenas. 
The brown bear lumbered from his corner. Sud- 
denly Denna Wyoming slipped and fell. His arm 
hit the bear’s snout. It lurched forward and grabbed 
him in a tenacious grip. The crowd, evidently 
thinking it was all part of the show, cheered loudly. 
The lions next-door roared. The snarling hyenas 
sprang at the recumbent figure of the lion tamer 


[11] 


Circus Parade 


and bit viciously at his legs. The bear flung its 
body against the back of the cage. The lions stood 
on their hind-legs, their forelegs between the bars 
of their cage. 

Soon everything was in confusion. Men yelled. 
Women fainted. Bob Cameron, the owner of the cir- 
cus, hurried forward with a fork and prodded 
viciously at the animals. They paid no attention. 
The brown bear kept its grip, the hyenas snapped 
and tore. The white-washed wall became splotched 
with blood. I stood horrified. 

Denna Wyoming moaned. The lions roared 
louder. The band played wails of discordant music. 

The weazened ex-jockey dashed into the cage 
with a small board in his hand. His wrinkled and 
Jeather-tanned face was sterner than the lion tamer’s 
had ever been. He stood erect and slashed the sharp 
board through the air. It tore a hyena’s ear off. The 
hyenas both slouched away, jaws dripping. The 
brown bear let go its grip, and its head rolled from 
side to side as it backed away from its victim. 

The lion tamer lay still. His velveteen coat was 
in shreds. His medals were dirty and disarranged. 
One boot had been torn from his leg. The ex-jockey 
dragged him to the door. Attendants placed him on 
a wooden shutter and hurried away. The lion 


[12] 


The Lion Tamer 


tamer’s heart quit pounding under his medals. The 
Big Guy had called his name. 

The withered ex-jockey held the board aloft in 
his hand. The bear sat between the hyenas, who 
snarled in their corners. 

“He'll be all right in a minute, folks—just a 
little accident.” 

He motioned to the band. It became silent. 

“Tll now enter the cage with the forest-bred 
lions.” 

The band played louder. The ex-jockey went into 
the lions’ cage with the small board in his hand. 
Having smelt blood, the lions puckered their noses. 

“Work fast, you sons of Erin or [ll lop your 
ears off,” snapped the ex-jockey. 

His command cut the air like a knife. He hurried 
from the cage. “Bring me a drink—damn quick!” A 
flunky hurried for it. 

When the crowd was disbanded he went to the 
dead lion tamer. Trailers had stolen the medals 
from his coat. He still clutched the little whip in 
his hand. Cameron, the circus owner, sent messen- 
gers ahead to a town in which we were to appear 
in three days. The death of the lion tamer would 
put money in his till. 

The messengers announced that Denna Wyom- 


[13] 


Circus Parade 


ing, the greatest lion tamer in the world, had been 
killed in mortal combat with six huge lions. His 
body would lie in state in the main tent in their fair 
city—a fit burial place for so brave a man. Lion 
tamers from Ringling’s, Barnum’s and John Robin- 
son’s circuses were hurrying to Texas to act as pall- 
bearers at their great comrade’s funeral. The town 
was placarded. The papers made headlines of the 
story. 

We landed in the town with our dead lion tamer. 
He was laid out with one lone medal on his chest. 
It showed the Blessed Virgin holding the child 
Jesus. It was heavy and made of brass. Ten men 
were hired to play the part of the lion tamers from 
the other circuses. They were a frightful-looking 
crew. Iwo other lads and myself were made to act 
as their attendants. Bob Cameron seemed to have 
an idea that all lion tamers were Negroes. Nine of 
the pseudo-colleagues of the deceased were dark. 
The tenth was Irish. They paraded about the town 
like a minstrel troup. They drank an astonishing 
amount of liquor out of respect to their dead com- 
rade. As I had respected him greatly, I drank also. 

The circus grounds were jammed with people. 
‘They crowded into the main tent to see Denna 
Wyoming in his torn velveteen coat. The Homeric 


[14] 


The Lion Tamer 


vagabond rose magnificently to the occasion. He 
sold verses in honor of his dead friend. They read: 


Green lies the sod on Denna’s breast, 
And my poor heart ts in a haze. 

He sleeps in mansions of the blest, 

W here lions in the meadows graze. 


No more on earth will Denna play 
His music to secure our praise. 
But he will sing the years away 
W here lions in the meadows graze. 


As you are now— 
So once was he, 
As he is now— 
So you will be, 


It is our mighty 

God’s Great Plan— 
Open thou thy heart— 
Give what you can. 


Thousands of people followed the coffin to a spot 
on a hill. A trained dog, drafted into service, 
watched, with tired eyes, the whips, spurs and boots 


[15] 


Circus Parade 


of its supposedly dead master. A black preacher 
stood on a white tombstone and shouted: 

“The Lawd Gawd he collect up the sons of Cain. 
He gatheh the little childern from play and from 
the dens of lions. When He say Come—you lays 
down youh work and go sailin’ away to sit on the 
right hand of the Heavenly Fatheh and His Only 
Legitimate Son . . . glory be to Them each one!” 

He stopped and scanned the motley assemblage 
with yellowish white eyes. “The Lawd giveth and 
the Lawd taketh away,” he shouted. ““That’s fair 
enough,” laughed a drunken stake driver, as the 
Negro minister of God continued with impressive 
manner, “May all heah see the light and the dark 
of their ways. . . . Fo’ to them that hath shall be 
given some moah—and them that hain’t got it 
never shall get it—world without end!—for so it is 
written—and ever will be—thus and ever—now and 
forever. He that lies here once held the lions in sway 
—and now none of you brethern is too pooh to do 
him honoh. .. .” 

The lion tamer’s body was lowered in the grave. 
The multitude poured back to the circus under the 
burning sun. 

When the festivities ended the circus owner 
counted the receipts of the biggest day’s business of 


[10] 


The Lion Tamer 


the season. The crowd paid nearly two thousand 
dollars to see Denna Wyoming’s funeral. 


I sat on a flat car with the ex-jockey as the circus 
rattled out of the town. The wind flapped the canvas 
cover on a gilded wagon as he said, “Denna was a 


hell of a lion tamer . . . got killed by that damn 
brown bear!’ 
“T know . . . but how can you catch a blind 


bear’s eye?” I asked. 
His crooked mouth parted in a half-smile. 
“Tm damned if I know,” he replied. 


[17] 


II: Circus Parade 


cy 


Cea a 


“~~ ps 


II: Circus Parade 


AMERON’S World’s Greatest Combined 
Shows consisted of ten cars. The car which 
Cameron occupied had once been a Pullman. It was 
now obsolete. Cameron’s bunk and office were in 
one end of the car. There were three state-rooms 
for important performers. Another room was oc- 
cupied by Cameron’s common-law wife. There were 
eight other sections in use. The open end of the car 
was used as a general dining and living room by 
day. At the other end was a small kitchen in which 
de Bussey, a French Negro, served as cook. 

An old baggage car carried the ninety-foot “‘big 
top,” the seventy-foot round top, and two thirty- 
foot middle pieces. It also carried stakes, poles, 
trunks, seats, lay-out pins and other paraphernalia. 
Flat cars carried the wagons in which stake-drivers 
and other circus roustabouts slept. The bunks were 
too full of vermin to be occupied long at a time, and 
so, weather permitting, they were not used. 

The performers were more snobbish than any 


33 


class of people I had ever known. They did not 
[21] 


Circus Parade 


talk to the lesser gentry of the circus save only to 
give commands. They were known as “kinkers’”’ to 
us. We looked upon them with mingled disdain and 
awe. 

They “doubled in brass” in parade and band con- 
cert, each playing some musical instrument. For 
days at a time, when we were short of men, they 
also “doubled on canvas” or helped put up the tent. 

Bob Cameron, the owner, was a remnant of early 
American circus days. He claimed to be seventy- 
three years old. His face was florid, his hair a faded 
brick red, his step firm and heavy. He was muscular 
and tall. His jaw was crooked, as though a blow had 
knocked it sideways. 

His nose slanted in the opposite direction from 
his jaw. He was nearly blind in one eye. It had a 
streak across it; thin as a razor blade from one corner 
to the other. In vitality and gusto he was ageless. 
Sardonic and brutal, he cared for nothing on earth 
but his circus and the scarecrow woman who traveled 
with him as his wife. 

She weighed about a hundred pounds, and was 
wrinkled, yellow and cracked like thin leather in 
the rain. Her face was not much larger than a sickly 
baby’s. She looked to be ninety. Age had touched 
her with a wicked leer. One could have placed a 


[221] 


Circus Parade 


pencil in the hollow of her eyes, which were rheumy 
and of a weird green color like a weed the frost had 
touched. She had been a bare-back rider, and her 
hands were overdeveloped. Her shoulders stooped 
forward as she walked. Her nature, no larger than 
herself, was mean and petty. The “Strong Woman” 
had once called her a baby buzzard. It was the name 
by which she was afterward known among us. 

It was said that she had been married seven times. 
She lived in her belligerent past. “I was born on 
a horse’s back—it’s nobody’s damn business when,”’ 
she often said. 

“The horse she was born on was sway-backed,” 
was Jock’s comment. 

She helped to rule our vagabond world with a 
ruthless snarl. Her special passion was to superin- 
tend the thieves in the gambling car. For long hours 
at a time she would not leave the car which she occu- 
pied with Cameron. He gave her every attention. 

Like Cameron, she seemed an undying type of hu- 
manity—all whalebone and gristle. Seventy years 
on the road, the monotony of it often made her 
mentally ill. Many times around the world, her 
imagination was so limited that it was all of one 
pattern to her. “It ain’t no different—some people’s 
yellow and some’s black and some’s Irish,”’ she used 


[23] 


Circus Parade 


to say. “It’s all a heluva mess.” She preceded every 
remark with a snarl. 

In moods of mental illness she would lie and look 
out of the window with the defiant expression of 
an old hag that would not die. When some of my 
licentious doggerel had been shown to Cameron by 
the Lion Tamer, he decided that I would be a good 
companion for the Baby Buzzard, who loved every- 
thing in books that concerned illicit love. Her lasciv- 
ious mind reeked with fantastic tales of sex. The 
only time her voice ever became soft was when she 
talked of some man out of the long ago. 

‘He knew how to love, you betcha,”—and then 
a deep sigh. “They were real men in them days.” 
She would then lean her jaw on a withered arm and 
look defiantly at me as if anticipating that I would 
dispute her. 

But my reply would always be, “You bet they 
were.” 

“Huh,” would be the contemptuous rejoinder, 
followed by an expression that seemed to say, 
“What the hell do you know about it?” 

Between helping Jock, the boss hostler, and now 
and then lending a hand in putting up or taking 
down the tent at the different towns, and my work 
as a crude secretary to the Baby Buzzard, besides 


[24] 


Circus Parade 


running errands for the performers and freaks, I was 
kept busy. 

The Baby Buzzard was not always easy to please. 
Seldom a day passed that she did not have an ache 
in some portion of her withered body. If I rubbed 
her back it seemed to cure the ache elsewhere. My 
wrists would become tired and numb. But the old 
lady would lie quite still under the rubbing and ut- 
ter sounds which were neither moans nor purrs but 
blended of both. She was born for the wiles of an 
osteopath. 

She would give me fifty cents after each rubbing. 
It was never in change, always the half-dollar. She 
was in the habit of keeping a dozen half-dollars 
about her always. They were placed in a glass, which 
she frequently picked up and rattled. 

Once, as we were pulling into Houston, Texas, 
she lost the glass. The Baby Buzzard was in an 
agony of despair. Cameron sent for me. I had to 
rub her back for an hour. Cameron went away to 
help Silver Moon Dugan superintend the business 
of putting up the tent. My tired hands had finally 
tubbed the old lady to sleep. As I left the room, I 
stumbled upon an empty glass. Near it was a half- 
dollar. I picked up the money, and near it was an- 
other coin. I looked about patiently until I had 


[251] 


Circus Parade 


found twelve of them. I placed them carefully in 
the glass and left the room taking glass and con- 
tents with me. 

The old lady often mentioned “the damn thief 
that took my half-dollars’’ and wondered who he 
was. 

I would always say, “Well you can’t trust any- 
thing around a circus.” 

She would snarl and say, ““Huh—what in hell do 
you know about it?” 

Feeling that she was not the first woman to doubt 
the word of youth, I would say no more. 

Cameron would always hold back the first four 
weeks salary. He would explain to all his employees 
that it was merely kindness on his part; that he did 
not wish anybody who worked for him to finish the 
season broke. | 

Seldom did the lesser workers have the fortitude 
to stick with the circus until the end of the season. 
If any of them endeavored to do so, they were “red- 
lighted,” thrown off the train near the red lights of 
a railroad yard. If they again managed to catch up 
with the show, they were promptly accused of deser- 
tion and run off the lot. 

During the first four weeks Cameron would stand 
for an occasional “touch” on the part of his men. 


[26] 


Circus Parade 


He would give them a quarter, a half-dollar, and 
once in.a while a‘whole silver dollar at a time. In 
less than eight weeks the wandering circus laborers 
would learn that they were up against an unbeatable 
game in working for Bob Cameron, and would leave 
the show. As a result, all hands “doubled up.” 

Cameron paid the most honestly earned dollar 
reluctantly. It meant that much less money to be 
saved toward a larger show. He really did not dream 
of riches—only of a big circus. 

His motto was: “‘As Big as Barnum’s.”’ Perhaps 
no more dishonest than many of the greater circus 
owners who had passed through the same school of 
trickery, Cameron had nevertheless been over forty 
years in acquiring a ten-car show. 

It was said of him that he once came near to be- 
ing in the big league of showmen but he cheated his 
partner, an illiterate Irishman, who believed in 
fairies, and was shrewder than a Jew. 

An old circus roustabout told me that the Irish- 
man, in retaliation, had made Cameron at the point 
of a gun, match a coin with him—best three out of 
five, for the entire circus. Cameron lost. 

The Irishman’s coin was the same on both sides. 

Cameron discovered the trick. Twelve witnesses, 
all Irish, swore the game was fair. Cameron, mad 


[27] 


Circus Parade 


with the slipping gold fever, tried to murder the 
Irishman. 

The latter gentleman had playfully knocked his 
nose sideways, had cut his eye with a its and had 
then fractured his skull. 

They were no longer friends. Cameron had to 
start all over again. The Irishman became honest 
and died rich. 

It was said that after Cameron’s split with his 
partner he succeeded in adding only one other car 
to his circus every four or five years. He still 
dreamed of a twenty-car show. And the years were 
crawling over him with mockery. 

The approach of pay-day was like the hour of 
execution for Cameron. It mattered not whether 
business was good or bad—his greed mania was the 
same. His safe was guarded always by Slug Fin- 
nerty, Gorilla Haley, Silver Moon Dugan or some 
other circus ruffian even more dishonest, if possible, 
- than himself. 

Cameron sent all surplus cash to the bank in the 
town where he made his circus headquarters. He 
was a deacon in the Methodist church there, and a 
director in the bank. 

Like many circus owners, he was respected in 
his winter headquarters’ city. He brought busi- 


[28] 


Circus Parade 


ness, money and wide advertising to the place. 

He would hardly leave enough money to pay the 
men, if business lagged at all. And often he would 
allow the money to remain in the safe for several 
days after pay-day. Money was glue to Cameron. 

Something had always happened to keep him 
from owning a “big show.” A panic, the low price 
of cotton, ruined crops, cattle dying from drought. 
But once money was in the bank he drew it out with 
pain. He would hold a minimum in the bank. When 
down to that amount he would withdraw no more 
money if the heavens fell. 

He could always wheedle the laborers. Somehow 
or other he could move the circus. But he could not 
give a show without the performers or “kinkers.”’ 

At one time Cameron had only left enough money 
in the safe to meet a pay-day that had passed. There 
was near mutiny in the circus, until Cameron an- 
nounced two full weeks pay the next day. 

The pay envelopes were ready in the next town. 
It was a small town in which no liquor was allowed 
to be sold. The next town in which we were to 
appear was wide open and wet. 

Cameron knew the men would reach the wet 
town without breaking into their pay. 

In the next town Bob Cameron borrowed a great 


[29] 


Circus Parade 


deal of the money back from the men by offering 
them four weeks pay for two if business picked up. 

Some of the men had a few dollars in their 
“grouch bags” which were made of chamois skin 
and tied about their necks. Circus rovers as a rule 
did not like people who saved money. They called 
them “‘grouchy.’”’ Hence the term “grouch bag.” 

And, of course, a grouch bag was a safe place 
in which to carry money. A circus is, or was, gener- 
ally a canvas nest of petty thieves and criminals 
among the lower gentry. 

Next to handing out money, Cameron deeply re- 
gretted giving passes to see his circus. 

When he had a two-car and three-car show, he 
was always at war with railroad men. It was the 
same when he had a circus of ten cars. Train crews, 
like the rest of the world, enjoy sights that are 
free. 

As he was stingy with passes to the crews who 
switched his train, often a switch engineer would 
wait until we were at breakfast and bump his en- 
gine into us. Cameron would shout his opinion of 
railroad men in general, but the mischief never 
abated. One train crew would pass the word on to 
the next division. 

In earlier days Cameron often acted as his own 


[30] 


Circus Parade 


“advance man,” and traveled ahead of his show. He 
was considered one of the best ‘‘fixers” in the busi- 
ness. A large circus will pay from five hundred to a 
thousand dollars a day to appear in a town. Some 
cities have been known to allow a circus to show 
free of charge in order to advertise the city. 

Cameron’s show would be called upon to pay 
from one to three hundred dollars tax, unless, of 
course, Cameron, or Bill Regan, his chief advance 
agent, managed to fix it for nothing. They would 
often be forced to give many passes away to city 
authorities. Regan always sent word back what the 
license fee would be, also the price of the “‘lot”’ rent, 
and other important information. If the advance 
man reports that a town is “tough,”’ there is always 
the ‘‘fixer” in evidence. 

_ Cameron was shrewd and resourceful in such mat- 
ters. He always wore plaids or loud checked clothes. 
A gold watch chain, with links an inch long, was 
stretched across his vest. Two immense green elk 
teeth dangled from it. His hair was long and strag- 
gly. He wore a broad-brimmed Stetson hat. He was 
never without a heavy gold-headed cane. It was 
loaded with lead at the top. The cane had served as 
a weapon in many a circus battle. 

Cameron’s custom was to parade from the lot to 


[31] 


Circus Parade 


the principal corner of the town in which he hap- 
pened to be with his circus. After the band had 
played several selections, Cameron would mount a 
box and make a speech. 

‘Neighbors, it is sure a mighty good thing to be 
back once again in my old home state. Here in this 
my old state the sun kisses the meadows as with 
beams of silver. I was born over yonder about eighty 
miles. After all, neighbors and friends, I’ve toured 
all over the world and I want to tell you folks there 
ain’t no state like the old state here after all. As 
I was saying to Senator , (mentioning a sen- 
ator in Washington from the state in which he 
happened to be showing) God Almighty in his in- 
finite wisdom made this state when he felt good. 
But, neighbors and friends, this state is the home of 
great showmen, and I want to tell you that never 
was there such a show on the road as you will see 
today. We have camels and tigers from Rotabasco, 
and lions from the Amazonian jungles of the Nile. 
We have the bloodsweating Behomoth also, The 
Strong Lady, gentle as a babe, and she can lift 
eleven men, such prodiverous strength was never 
before seen in the muscles of a lady. We also have 
the Moss Haired Girl, captured by me and my men 
on a hunting expedition in Absenteria.” 


[32] 


Circus Parade 


The band would play Déxze at the finish of the 
speech. The return to the circus lot was made over 
the leading street. 

If the town had been lenient with the circus and 
had allowed a low license fee and cheap lot rent, 
Cameron would don his loud clothes after the 
parade and drop around to the saloons and hotel 
lobbies and become acquainted with as many people 
as possible. Always would he tell of his love for the 
state and of the present town in particular. 

None of us ever learned just which corner of the 
world Cameron called home. He claimed as birth 
place every state in which his circus appeared. 

But if the town was “tough” or had been none 
too generous, Cameron’s system was not the same. 

He would put on an old hat, a worn suit and run- 
down shoes. His diamonds and gold watch chain 
and other jewelry was left in the safe in the car in 
which he lived. The gold cane was also left behind. 
He would carry a gnarled hickory stick which re- 
sembled something recently cut from a tree. Thus 
prepared he would hasten to the mayor or the town 
clerk long before the parade was to start. 

Cameron would take on a different appearance 
and actually look to be years older—a man drawn 
with illness. Once in the mayor’s presence he would 


[33] 


Circus Parade 


tell a sad tale of sickness and bad business and very 
gloomy prospects for the rest of the season. Nearly 
always he would leave with a license costing but a 
fraction of the regular price which other shows paid. 
And often the license was given for nothing. 

If the mayor was too obdurate, Cameron’s shoul- 
ders drooped more, his walk became more painful. 
He often limped. He would pace up and down in 
front of the town hall, or sit on the front steps, 
elbows on knees, head in hands. After attracting 
as much attention as possible, he would limp pain- 
fully before the local authorities. If the mayor or 
town clerk were present he would tell his story. 
If not, he would ask to have him sent to him, and 
explain that he was too ill to walk further. pa tale 
was a masterpiece of pathos. 

“T am old and ill and my days are about done. 
I am unable to pay salaries and if the license fee is 
large, my men will become charges in this my na- 
tive state. I little dreamed that I as a boy would 
come to this. I wore the uniform of grey (or blue) 
for this state. It was at the battle of Shiloh that a 
bullet brought me the limp in my right leg.” The 
authorities would look at his dejected appearance, 
and grant him that which he wished. 

The result was generally a free license. No mayor 


[34] 


Circus Parade 


wanted a show stranded in his town. The mayor 
would often send for the owner of the lot upon 
which the show was playing. The rent would be 
made cheaper. Sometimes the grocer and the butcher 
reduced their prices also. 

If the mayor was “‘too Scotch or churchy”’ or “a 
Christer,” as Cameron would say—the circus owner 
would wear the makeup all day. Usually, however, 
when the license was given and the rent reduced, 
Cameron would return to the car and don his loud- 
est checked raiment. In one town, after Cameron 
had changed clothes and was talking in front of the 
main tent, the mayor approached and asked him 
solicitously about the old man who had appeared at 
the city hall. Cameron never forgot the compliment. 

Once Cameron failed dismally in all efforts to 
get a cheaper license or not. Neither was he to be 
allowed to parade until the license money was paid. 
In this case it was three hundred dollars. “God Al- 
mighty,’ yelled Cameron, “I wouldn’t pay three 
hundred dollars for Bill Bryan as a freak.” The 
rent for the lot was also exorbitant. 

Cameron learned that the county line was close 
to the town. 

He soon discovered that there was no county 
license for tent shows. In less than an hour he had 


[35 


Circus Parade 


arranged for a lot and the show played both per- 
formances, 

Though Cameron pleaded, the town, governed 
by religious fanatics, would not allow the “sinful 
circus” to parade. 

The lot which Cameron secured was a mile from 
the railroad yards where we unloaded. We were told 
to get ready as if for parade and start for the cir- | 
cus grounds at eleven that morning. 

We made our way slowly down the main street, 
the band playing, the circus wagons rumbling. 

The chief of police rode up on a large white horse. 

“What do you mean by paradin’ when we told 
you not to?” he yelled. 

“We're not paradin’,”’ replied Cameron blandly, 
“we are within the law in going to a lot which we 
have rented honorably and without malice afore- 
thought.” 

“You’re all arrested,’ screamed the chief. “Tl 
show you that you can’t make fun of the laws of 


73 
e 


“T don’t wanta be unkind, brother, but don’t you 
see it'll break the town feedin’ this bunch?” said 
the suave Cameron while the circus parade stretched 
several blocks away awaiting entrance to the city 
jail. The chief hastily held a parley with other of- 


[36] 


Circus Parade 


ficials. Cameron’s circus was allowed to turn about 
and make its way to the circus grounds while the 
band played the battle cry of the circus, to the blare 
of clarinet and fife and roar of drum: 


’Twas just about ten years ago, 
Too early yet for ice or snow; 
Thru’ bounteous Texas coming down, 
A circus with a funny clown, 
“Hey Rube” 


The boys warn’t feeling very well, 

The reason why I cannot tell, 

And as they made each little town, 

They whispered when the “Gawks” came round 
“Hey Rube” 


It’s alittle phrase, ’tis true; 
Its meaning well each faker knew 
And e’en the weakest heart was stirred, 
At mention of that magic word, 
“Hey Rube” 


“They ll eat you upin this ere town, 
The boys'll tear your circus down,” 


[37 


Circus Parade 


Thus spoke a man with hoary head. 
The main “Guy” winked, and softly said 
“Hey Rube” 


They gathered round, about three score, 

I am not sure but there were more, 

Red-hot and eager for the fray; 

The boys all thought, but didn’t say 
“Hey Rube” 


The ball was opened, like a flash, 

Above the battle’s din and dash, 

As athunderbolt hurled from the sky, 

Rang loud and long the battle cry, 
“Hey Rube” 


’Twas finished; the smoke rolled away, 

As clouds before the sun’s bright ray; 

That Texan chivalry was gone 

They couldn't sing that circus song, 
“Hey Rube” 


“Gawks, Guys, and Rubes,” another day 

When e’er a circus comes your way, 

And you are “‘spillin’” for a “clem,” 

Be sure they haven’t learned to sing, 
“Hey Rube” 


[38] 


Circus Parade 


It was the battle cry of the circus. And no war 
song ever called more ruthless barbarians to slaugh- 
ter. Events in circus life were often dated from great 
“Hey Rube” encounters. All citizens were called 
tubes by circus people. 


[39] 


Ill: Hey Rube! 


II: Hey Rube! 


HERE were some people with Cameron’s Cir- 

cus whom the corrosion of years could not 

rob of fine qualities. But the greater number were 

thieves, liars and embryo yeggs. Desperadoes known 

as “cannons,” ‘dips’ and “guns” followed us to 
every town. 

Women, faded, beautiful and wanton, lovers of 
their own kind, and men-loving men, all trekked 
with Cameron’s, living generally with the ethics 
and filth of gypsies. 

Each and all of us, shrewd or stolid, traded upon 
the imbecilities of human nature and had comtempt 
for it as a result. Honor, to us, was a word in a dic- 
tionary. 

A group of whining morons with the cunning of 
foxes were ever at our heels. They were known as 
“Monday men.” As the family washing was gener- 
ally done on Monday, they would steal it from 
the line and sell it to those it might almost fit. 

All about was the odor of long unbathed bodies; 


[43] 


Circus Parade 


and clothing stiff from perspiration that had turned 
white like salt. 

We had struck a “rainy season’ —the nightmare 
of circus life. With insufficient heat in dripping 
weather, the same clothing became soaking wet and 
dried on our bodies. We forestalled pneumonia with 
rot gut whisky and lungs that pumped hard with a 
zest for life. For the most part we clung like ani- 
mals to that which we accepted without a thought. 

The high class gamblers and crooks were known 
as the “Bob Cameron men.” They consisted of the 
ticket sellers, card sharks and dice experts. They 
gave ten per cent. of their earnings to Cameron. He 
mistrusted and hated all of them. But as he paid 
them no salary, and they were a source of revenue, 
he had a thief’s toleration for his kind. They lived 
in a car of their own. 

The “Square Johns” were the canvas men and 
other laborers. They were given the name with com- 
plimentary contempt because they worked hard. 
The vast majority of them were potential crooks 
whom labor and stolidity had made submissive. 

The spielers worked in league with the “dips” or 
pickpockets. 

Whenever a large group of rustics would assemble 
the spieler would say, “Now, Ladies and Gentle- 


[44] 


Hey Rube! 


men, we aim to run an honest show—but as you 
perhaps know there are thieves in high and low 
places—and dishonest people may follow us—just 
as you may have dishonest people right here in your 
own fair city. Hence and therefore—I warn you 
to watch out for your pocketbooks and other valu- 
ables.” 

Immediately rustic hands would feel for purses. 
The pickpockets would watch where the hands went, 
and follow after. 

Slug Finnerty was the chief spieler. He had lost 
an eye in a brawl many years before. The empty 
socket was red and criss-crossed with scars. He was 
deeply pock-marked and stoop-shouldered. His ears 
had been pounded until they resembled pieces of 
putty clinging to his bald and cone-shaped head. An 
ex-bruiser of the old school, he had served five years 
in a southern penitentiary for a crime unspeakable. 
The boy was injured internally. 

Slug was the money-lender and the leader of the 
gang of crooks. The Baby Buzzard despised him. 
She was the one person with courage enough to greet 
him with a snarl. He had once called her a “damned 
old bag of bones” in the presence of Cameron. The 
owner of the show turned white, then red, then 
walked away. 


[4s 


Circus Parade 


After this incident it was always said that Slug 
knew where Cameron “had buried the body.” Our 
meaning implied that Slug knew of a murder or 
other crime that Cameron had committed in some 
part of the world, and that Cameron was afraid he 
would tell. 

At any rate, Slug had been with the show for 
many seasons. He was said to be the greatest short- 
change artist in the canvas world. He robbed every 
citizen who did not produce the exact price for a 
ticket. When making change he had a habit of turn- 
ing his empty socket toward the victim. It was a 
ghastly sight. It had the proper psychological ef- 
fect upon his victim. 

He had a trick of folding a bill in his hand. He 
would count both ends in the presence of a patron. 
In this manner a ten dollar bill was made into 
twenty dollars. Another unerring method was the 
“two-bit short change.” He would return change of 
a five dollar bill by counting “one-two-three-four” 
swiftly. By the time he had counted out three dol- 
lars he would say—‘and four’—there you are.” 
The customer having heard the word “four” so 
often would conclude that Slug meant four dollars 
and pocket the change—short one dollar. Always 
near Slug was the “rusher’—a man who kept the 


[46] 


Hey Rube! 
patrons moving swiftly, once they had been given 
their change. 

Slug was an adept pocket-picker. He could slug 
and “roll” or rob a drunkard in record time. Hence 
his nickname. It was all he was ever known by. He 
was also a past master at the manipulation of 
loaded dice, marked cards or the shell game. His 
earnings at the end of each season were on a par 
with Cameron’s. He was always ready to loan 
money at fifty per cent. interest. Cameron would 
always turn the employee’s money over to Slug. 
They divided the interest and all other profits. The 
two men hated each other. 

Most of the borrowers of Slug’s money spent it 
for liquor or cocaine. As long as they owed Cameron 
or Finnerty money they were not “red-lighted.” 

Slug was a furtive bootlegger in the dry sections. 
He would give the alcoholics a few drinks, and 
once their appetites were aroused he would then sell 
them more and loan them money with which to 
buy it. 

Rosebud Bates was always in the clutches of the 
one-eyed Shylock. His mania for musical contrap- 
tions kept him penniless. He had joined the show 
in a small Colorado town in the early spring. He 
was a trap drummer. Decidedly effeminate, with a 


[47 


Circus Parade 


pink and white complexion, the strict moral gentle- 
men with the show at once became suspicious of 
Rosebud. With no evidence upon which to base the 
charge, they immediately called him a “‘fairy.”’ The 
accusation stuck. Our world was brutal, immoral, 
smug and conventional. We had unbounded 
contempt for all those who did not sin as we 
sinned. 

Rosebud’s parents had spent a great deal of 
money on his musical education. He could play 
many musical instruments. His passion in the end 
became a trap drum. Finnerty called him Master 
Bates. At each greeting he would say, “How are 
you, Master Bates?” amid laughter. Bates would 
blush and remain quiet. 

Rosebud would spend hours in imitating the 
whistle of a locomotive, the song of a bird, the 
roar of a lion, with different musical contraptions. 

He was always surrounded with noise-producing 
instruments. One extravagance had cost him three 
hundred dollars. They were a set of tympanies or 
“kettle drums.’’ He had seen the instruments in a 
store in Dallas. So great was his passion that he 
borrowed the money of Slug at fifty per cent. in- 
terest. 

Rosebud could juggle his drum sticks as he 


[48] 


Hey Rube! 


drummed. This was one of the features of the parade 
which Cameron quickly recognized. 

Those who called Rosebud effeminate were cor- 
rect in their judgment of him. 

It was in an Oklahoma town. Our canvas roof 
quivered under the heat of the sun. He told me of 
his ailment. 

“You won't tell no one, will you?” he pleaded. 

“No—I'll not say a word,” was my reply. 

He looked doubtfully at me. ‘““You know they’d 
run me off the lot if they knew.” 

“T know—and they’re not a damn bit better them- 
selves—look at Finnerty—he’d be the first to slug 
you. But Jock would understand—you could talk 
to him. He’s been through hell and back agin.” 

“But I won’t talk to him now,” was Rosebud’s 
hesitating answer. “‘J’ll just buy a lot more instru- 
ments and forget.’’ He polished a drum stick. 
“Playin’ a trap drum’s better than blowin’ your 
heart out on a wind like the clarinet, anyhow. Those 
poor devils in the band have to play when their 
mouths are all sore. I’ve seen ’em blow fever blis- 
ters right through the instruments—and all for 
fifteen dollars a week,” he grunted. 

It was our second day in the city. Life was easier 
when the circus played three days in a town. Release 


[49] 


Circus Parade 


from pitching the tent and traveling gave us a 
chance to rest. We looked ahead for many weeks to 
such three-day periods of rest. 

‘“‘What causes it, Rosebud?” I asked, coming back 
to the one question. 

He looked plaintive, with drawn face. 

“T don’t know,” he answered slowly, “Pve heard 
a lot of reasons. I never did like girls as far back as 
I can remember. Then when I got older it got worse. 
I used to like to nurse when I was five years old. 
It got so it was my mother’s way of rewarding me 
for being good. It never failed with her. I didn’t get 
any nourishment—yjust the sensation. Mother never 
understood. I didn’t either—then. And now of 
course I can’t tell her. She teaches Sunday School 
and belongs to a club in Denver.” 

I became Rosebud’s friend and talked to Jock 
about him. 

“Please don’t say a word to anyone,” I begged 
of Jock. 

“Not me, Kid. I won’t say a word. It’s Rosie’s 
own business.” 

Jock’s words and attitude toward Rosebud gave 
me more sympathy for Rosebud and helped 
strengthen my early tolerance for the vagaries of 
sex 


50] 


Hey Rube! 


The Baby Buzzard was kind to Rosebud. 
Whether this sprang from a sense of hatred toward 
Finnerty or a generous impulse I could not tell. 

The third day came in a drizzle of rain. Finnerty 
was in a sullen mood. The audience was small, 
which gave him less chance to short-change the 
patrons. 

A surly oil worker claimed that Slug had short- 
changed him. Slug was indignant at the charge. 
With persuasive tongue he apparently proved to the 
man that he was wrong. 

After the man had gone Rosebud appeared with 
his drum before a small tent a short distance from 
where Finnerty was taking tickets. The rain had 
made the drum heads damp. His sticks lacked the 
usual bounce and slipped out of his hands several 
times as he tried to juggle them. Finnerty leered 
across at him—‘“Master Bates! Cut out tHfat damned 
noise.” 

Rosebud disappeared at once, murmuring to me, 
“Some day I’ll break a drum over his head.” 

The rain still drizzled before the evening show. 

The oil worker who had been short-changed in 
the afternoon now stood near Finnerty’s ticket 
wagon with a half-dozen other men. 

Finnerty shouted with pleading voice: “Step 


[51 


Circus Parade 


right up, Ladies an’ ai. Here’s your tickets 
—the show is about to start.” 

The clouds hung low and black. The rain drizaled 
faster. Seven other men joined the group which 
watched Finnerty. The short-change artist acted as 
unconcerned as possible. A voice louder than the 
rest exclaimed: 

“We'll tear down the God damn tent!’ 

I looked in the direction of the voice. It was 
that of the man who had been robbed by Finnerty 
of less than a dollar. 

A feeling of impending trouble came over me. 
Rosebud joined me. 

“There’s over a dozen big guys out in front,” I 
said to Rosebud. ‘It looks like they’re goin’ to rush 
Finnerty.” 

Suddenly there was a crash. The oil workers 
charged Finnerty in a body. 

Finnerty just had time to shout the menacing 
“Hey Rube!” Instantly the circus grounds were 
furiously alive. To distinguish themselves from the 
“rubes,” a few members of the circus began tying 
white handkerchiefs around their necks. The code 
was—not to strike a man with a handkerchief about 
his neck. The method failed to work in this beh 
The men became too vicious. 


[52] 


Hey Rube! 

Men ran in every direction. It was like the beat- 
ing of tom-toms in African hill country. No longer 
were the circus employees prowling members of or- 
ganized society. They had forgotten that Bob 
Cameron cheated them. Facing the common enemy 
every man from Cameron down picked up a “staub” 
or tent stake, the upper end of which was encircled 
with an iron band. 

More than a dozen other men joined the “‘rubes.”’ 

“Cut the ropes an’ drop the tent,” a “rube” yelled. 
The rubes thought the ropes alone held the tent. 
They were mistaken. 

They ran with knives and slashed at the canvas 
sides. They cut the ropes which were tied to the 
stakes. Women and children screamed and fainted. 
Some crawled under the side-walls of the tent. 
The clouds lowered. The wind shifted to the west 
and rose in velocity. A streak of lightning jagged 
down the sky. A roar of thunder followed. 

Finnerty’s blue ticket wagon was kicked to pieces. 

Two men grabbed the money drawer and yelled, 
“We'll teach ’em to rob our buddy—we will.” 

Others screamed as they ran around the main 
tent with knives. Soon the side walls had been 
slashed to ribbons. The leader of the mob, a heavy 
and agile man, yelled above the roar of wind and 


[53.1 


Circus Parade 


rain, ‘“Rush in there fellows an’ cut the main guy 
ropes—we’ll slump her in the middle—we’ll teach 
these crooks to rob us.” 

Cameron and Finnerty stood near where the cash 
drawer had been. They fought valiantly in the 
midst of enemy and friend. 

Benches were upturned in the main tent, the 
center pole toppled, and soon the vast canvas crum- 
pled like a wet rag, the wind whistling around it. 

Boards, maul handles, quarter poles, every in- 
strument imaginable was used in the frightful 
welter. 

Rosebud had not taken time to put his drum 
away. A club crashed through it and made an 
explosion as of thunder. Rosebud heard the noise 
and fell wailing over the broken drum. A man 
grabbed him by the collar and yanked him upward. 

“You God damn murderer,’ Rosebud screamed as 
he turned around and jumped toward the man. Both 
his hands stretched outward like the paws of an 
angry cat. His fingers became stiff as his nails dug 
bloody gashes in his antagonist’s face. The man 
fought furiously and soon Rosebud fell backward, 
his head hitting the hard sides of his drum. He 
sighed deeply and lay still. 

The man turned from Rosebud to join his com- 


[54] 


Hey Rube! 
rades in a combined attack on Finnerty and Cam- 
eron. With a catlike spring he grabbed Finnerty 
around the throat. Together they rolled to the 
ground, heavy fists thudding. Finnerty, a blood- 
streaked madman now, threw his right fist upward. 
It crashed against his attacker’s chin and he crum- 
pled near Rosebud’s body. 

Finnerty stood like an immense one-eyed gorilla 
about to spring and snarled between oaths, “Come 
on you, God damn rubes, and meet your master!” 

A man circled behind him with a club. It went 
upward and downward while Finnerty dodged. The 
momentum of the intended blow threw the man off 
his feet for a second. Before he gained his poise 
Finnerty walked in close, his teeth grinding, his 
tongue licking the blood from his battered upper lip. 
His two fists struck with horrible precision on each 
side of the man’s jaws. The head went backward as 
if pulled suddenly with a rope. As he fell uncon- 
scious Finnerty kicked him twice in the groin. Still 
enraged, Finnerty then pounced upon him and drove 
his fist straight downward. The blow covered the 
man’s entire face with blood. 

“Look out, Slug,” a voice yelled, and now the 
bloody monster turned swift as a tiger. Two men 
engaged him in battle. Their fists crashed against 


[551 


Circus Parade 


his face. He fought them both viciously without 
moving backward. The band stand toppled over. 

The two men had placed the money drawer in 
the stand while they returned to the fight. 

The coins scattered everywhere. Many, more 
eager for gold than battle, scampered after it. 
Cameron had fought near the stand until it fell. 
Then, seeing money scattered on the ground he 
rushed madly at those who tried to pick it up. Jock 
had by this time come upon the scene. He charged 
into the fight. Seeing Rosebud unconscious, he car- 
tied him out of the fracas. 

Someone, whether stake-driver or Rube, had 
crashed a club against Cameron’s head. He waved 
from side to side, but stood up under the thudding 
impact. Another blow caught him across the back. 
A man of seventy-three, heavily ruptured and wear- 
ing a truss, he sank downward and remained on his 
knees by a tremendous effort of will. Then, too weak 
to remain in that position, he rolled over on his back 
and made an effort to pull his truss and the heavy 
weight upon it into place. Rising, he clutched at 
his groin with one hand, and swung a “‘staub” with 
the other. At last, fully conscious, but unable to 
move, Cameron lay still and blasphemed. His oaths 
could be heard above the noise of the conflict. 


[56] 


Hey Rube! 


“Come on, boys,” he yelled, “we can’t let the 
God damn ratty rubes lick us.” A man kicked at 
his face. He rolled over, groaning with pain, and 
protected it with his arms. 

Jock rushed up yelling to the man, “Come 
an’ battle a man that’s on his feet.” The heavier 
man rushed Jock but fell writhing from the ef- 
fects of two blows delivered far below his waist 
line. 

The general noise and confusion attracted the 
women. The Strong Woman rushed at the enemy 
who retreated before her. She moved about, an in-. 
furiated four-hundred-pound giantess, her hair 
streaming, wet and bedraggled in the rainy night. 

Finnerty, now battered beyond recognition, 
fought on, though too weak to take command. It 
fell to Jock who was soon joined by the Baby Buz- 
zard. 

“Hello Betsy,’”’ shouted Cameron upon beholding 
her as she slashed at the enemy with a long black- 
snake whip. 

“Tell Goosey to bring the elephants,’’ Cameron 
yelled. 

Soon two elephants charged across the lot, each 
holding the end of a thirty-foot pole. 

Cameron lay in the path of one of the elephants. 


[57.1 


Circus Parade 


The Baby Buzzard tried to drag him away. Cam- 
eron crawled out of danger on his knees. 

Goosey rushed the elephants through the crowd 
while friend and foe scampered before them. They 
retreated with curses and moans. 

The enemy rushed off the lot pursued by Goosey 
and his two elephants and a roaring crowd of cir- 
cus roustabouts. 

They barricaded themselves in a small rickety 
barn. It was soon completely demolished and its 
occupants beaten until they were unconscious. 

Silver Moon Dugan, the boss canvasman, gath- 
ered his fighting forces and entrained the circus, 

An engineer hauled it to a place of safety on a 
far siding. . 

Lights were dimmed and the train guarded until 
the chief despatcher gave us an engine and the 
right of way. 

Cameron’s loss was several thousand dollars. Fin- 
nerty had gained eighty cents. 


[58] 


re 


IV: The Moss-Haired Girl 


IV: The Moss-Haired Girl 


E reached , Missouri, in a worn condi- 

tion. The news of our battle had preceded 

us in the newspapers. Cameron was unable to leave 

his bed. Finnerty’s one eye was completely closed. 

He could not see for several days. But his spirit 

was indomitable. He was the first to appear on the 
new lot. 

We dispensed with the parade until mid-after- 
noon and spent the morning mending the main 
tent. After buying all the half-inch rope that could 
be had in the town, we again painted the tents with 
paraffine to make them waterproof. The canvas was 
two seasons old and had begun to leak. 

When all was nearly ready for the parade, a dep- 
utation of citizens arrived and asked for the pro- 
prietor. Upon being shown to his car they informed 
him that he was forbidden to show in the town. We 
were billed in the place for two days. Cameron used 
all his eloquence and tricks on the men. They re- 
mained firm. Telegrams from the Oklahoma city 
gave reports of our hey rube fight with biased detail. 


[61] 


Circus Parade 


The performers and other aristocrats with the 
show were indignant at such treatment by the rubes. 
But we who had the hard work to do were glad. 
Our next jump was one of four hundred miles on 
a third-class railroad. The trip would consume the 
better part of two days and nights. It would give 
us a respite in the incessant round of toil and tur- 
moil. 

But Cameron found work for idle hands to do. 

We spent the first day mending the tents and 
seats and in rubbing pained black and blue spots 
on our bodies with arnica and liniment. 

‘There was a gash in Rosebud’s body which had 
been inflicted when he fell on the edge of his drum. 
He sat with a heavy bandage around it, while he 
polished his drum sticks and cleaned his other mu- 


sical contraptions. Late in the afternoon he walked | 


wearily into the town with his broken drum. 

With Jock’s consent I divided my time between 
Cameron, Finnerty, the Strong Woman and the 
Moss-Haired Girl. The latter had been struck by a 
flying club which had fractured her rib. 

As she shared with the Strong Woman the honors 
of being Cameron’s most valuable freak, she was 
treated with consideration. 


[62] 


fa a = . a 7 E 
ee a 


The Moss-Haired Girl 


“Why don’t you sue the broken-nosed old devil ?” 
Buddy Conroy, who operated the loaded dice game 
under Finnerty, had asked her. 

“No, no, I wouldn’t do that. The old faker has 
troubles enough. Besides, I’m of age. I should have 
kept out of the way of the club. Anyhow, he was 
blind when he threw it.” 

“Maybe Finnerty threw it because he couldn’t 
never make a date with you.” 

“No, he was just blind, that’s all,’ was Alice’s 
rejoinder. . 

I worked about the tent until Conroy left. 

Then the Moss-Haired Girl turned to me, saying: 

“Heavens, I’m glad he’s gone. He gives me a 
cold feeling—like a dead fish.” 

“Yeap,” I said, “he’s as bad as Finnerty.” 

The girl laughed. ‘“‘No, he’s not that bad. There’s 
nothing as bad as Finnerty—but then—maybe we 
don’t understand.” 

Few people knew the Moss-Haired Girl’s real 
name. To the circus people she was known as Alice 
Devine. Her mother had been Swedish, her father 
Indian and Irish. She was the most superior person 
with the circus, and the weirdest. She converted her 
hair, which was between blonde and brown, and 


[63] 


Circus Parade 


long, into a tangled heap of moss by washing it 
frequently in stale beer, which she tinted green with 
herbs. 

Cameron gave her seventy-five dollars a week and 
all expenses, and billed her as “The Moss-Haired 
Girl.” The women flocked to see her in every town. 
She also earned about fifty dollars a week by selling 
portraits of herself. 

Her eyes were a deep blue, her complexion dark, 
her body graceful, her face beautiful. 

She read a great deal, and often loaned books 
to the Strong Woman and the Baby Buzzard. 

The Moss-Haired Girl talked to me often. Her 
life was as empty as an unused grave. But, with 
many opportunities, she seemed to desire no change. 
She did her washing twice a week. She always left 
silk underclothing and dresses to be cleaned and 
expressed to her in the next town. She would ar- 
range each week about the buying of beer, which she 
allowed to grow stale. She bought many different 
magazines, 

Looking back on her now I realize that she was 
repressed but deeply emotional. She loved all that 
pertained to life and hated philosophy. “It’s all 
rot,” she used to say. “None of them know a bit 
more about things than I do.” 


[64] 


The Moss-Haired Girl 


Now that the fogs of twenty years have cleared 
away, I see much that IJ have lost and little that I 
have gained. Then, I was but a day or two from hun- 
ger and destitution. Now they are years away. But 
something else has happened. The brain has grown 
tired. The ennui of life is everywhere. Adventure 
lurked around every corner then, and life was wild 
and free. I often went to my canvas bunk with 
muscles that ached and legs that dragged wearily. 
But each morning opened on a new world—and 
many tales were told. 

The Moss-Haired Girl, the Strong Woman, 
Aimee, the Beautiful Fat Girl, The Lion Tamer, 
Whiteface, Lefita and Jock are people that I shall 
never meet again. But I would trade the empty 
honor of a writer’s name to be once again their 
comrade. 

There was something in the girl which I was not 
mature enough to fully appreciate at the time. Her 
eyes squinted often, as the eyes of people will who 
have spent early years in a desert country. She had 
reverted to the lethargy of the Indian and loved 
to live in a tent. Her cleanliness of body must have 
been derived from her Swedish mother. 

The Moss-Haired Girl had been born in a little 
desert town of Arizona. Her father was a railroad 


[os] 


Circus Parade 


engineer who fell in love with a brakeman’s wife 
and ran away. He was never heard of again. Alice 
was five years of age at this time. Her mother 
struggled through and managed to live by running 
a small restaurant. 

When Alice was seven her mother became con- 
verted to Catholicism, and within a year the small 
daughter began her life at a convent. 

An old nun, part Indian, became fond of her. The 
little girl fell in with the routine of the convent, and 
with stoical silence absorbed everything. The aged 
nun was in charge of the linen department, and 
Alice spent hours with her in the sewing room. It 
was her duty to thread the needles for her old 
friend, whose eyes were watery and weak. 

The nun’s black habit hid her sparse grey hair 
and projected two inches out from her forehead. 
Her mentality was hardly above a child’s. She 
owned five rosaries and spent much time in shining 
the naked brass bodies of Christ which hung upon 
them. 

Always she talked of Christ as though he had 
been an Indian. She called him the Great Fire- 
builder. Some day he would come and burn to cin- 
ders all the Irish in the world. For they were the 
people who in her opinion had crucified Christ. 


[oo] 


The Moss-Haired Girl 


There were several old Irish nuns in the convent 
who gossiped a great deal. Sister Marie did not like 
them. 

Often, when the little girl had threaded the 
needle, the decrepit black-hooded woman would 
hold it aloft and talk of the Great Firebuilder. 

“He come down—way down—and stay on top 
o San Francisco mountain—he throw a torch and 
burn all up but you an’ me an’ Indian people like 
us . . . he give us back America an’ all the fish 
in the sea—an’ never no more houses and things, 
but like birds we be free. An’ Gabriel’ come back o’ 
Jesu’ and blow big horn an’ all people go right in 
fire an’ they'll all go. ’Oh blesse’ Jesu’ she burn an’ 
burn—an’ the big voice roll down the moumtan an’ 
scare the eagles an’ it’ll say, “This is but water com- 
pare to the everlastin’ fire. A million times hotter it 
be—so hot—the desert is cool in July—Then the 
fire will go out an’ big green trees and water in 
brooks and little white birds will be all aroun’. 
Then camps’ll be an our people livin’ in them.” 

Then in a moment of exaltation she would clasp 
the little girl in her arms and squeeze her so tightly 
that Alice felt like screaming. 

Alice often cried in the night when she thought 
of the Irish people being burned up. She thought, 

[67] 


Circus Parade 


of course, that there were only two classes of people 
in the world, the Irish and the Indians. 

Once the old nun gave her a huge and beautiful 
wax doll. She slept with it five months and smoothed 
its blonde hair and washed its immense blue eyes 
every morning and evening. She called it Lullaba- 
lie. 

One Friday she was called quickly for noon-day 
devotion and left the doll sitting with perfect poise 
at the end of the arbor. In fifteen minutes, as Alice 
prayed, the sun crawled around the arbor, and the 
wax doll melted like the Irish in the Great Fire- 
builder’s flame. 

Alice ran away from the chapel in the direction 
of her doll. Two little marble-blue eyes and a yellow 
wig were all that was left. The child stood for a 
moment, then clasped its hands, started to cry, held 
the tears back and sank down near the heap of wax. 
The sun burned her bare arms, but she sat for a 
long time, as still as a beautiful little female 
Buddha. | 

Something drove something out of the little girl’s 
soul at this moment. What it was I do not know, and 
neither could she ever explain. She was an Indian 
and a Swede, and to explain it one would be forced 


[os] 


The Moss-Haired Girl 


to explore long damned-up and century-old rivers 
of emotion. Her finely chiseled little mouth went 
tighter. She rose, and absentmindedly tried to pull 
a skirt over her knees. She wore bloomers at the 
time, but she obeyed a habit imbedded in her by 
long dead female ancestors. 

She picked up the little blonde wig and dropped 
it. She then picked up the little blue eyes. They 
rattled in her hand. She kissed them all over, then 
placed them in her waist pocket over her heart. 

She walked slowly under the blazing Arizona sun 
toward the sewing-room. The old nun was polishing 
the largest figure of Christ she owned. The little 
girl staggered half blindly toward her and held out 
the two marble blue eyes. 

Not a word was said for a long time. Then the 
old lady held the little girl’s face in her wrinkled 
hands in such a manner that all that could be seen 
of it were the red lips and the small pearl upper 
teeth. She leaned down and put her leathery mouth 
against the girl’s and sobbed: 

“O Jesu’, Jesu’, Jesu’—you take Lullaba-lie all 
home.” 

Alice said no word. She put the marble eyes back 
in her pocket. That night she placed them in a little 


[69] 


Circus Parade 


pine box, wrapped about with cotton. Each morn- 
ing she would open the box and look at them. She 
carried the marble eyes for eighteen years. 

When she was twelve years old Alice knew noth- 
ing of her body. When nature worked a change in 
it she was dreadfully frightened. She washed her 
clothes in cold water and put them on again hur- 
riedly. Pneumonia developed and for three weeks 
Sister Marie nursed her day and night. She passed 
the crisis in the fourth week and slowly recovered. 

Out of her head six days, she heard Irish bodies 
sizzling in a fire built by a red-headed man thou- 
sands of feet high. She saw him blow clouds away 
from his eyes that he might see. 

The convent would sail through the air for hours 
at a time. 

Sister Marie had changed into the most beautiful 
of young angel women. She flew constantly about 
Alice’s head. 

Sister Marie broke down when Alice became con- 
valescent. When Alice became strong again, the old 
nun died. | 

Alice heard the news. Her lithe young body went 
rigid and fell. 

In three days Sister Marie had five rosaries 
wrapped about her worn and scrawny hands. She 


[70] 


eee ze 
ee re 


The Moss-Haired Girl 

was placed before the cheap gilt altar in the chapel. 

A nun stood on each side of Alice as she looked 

at the body of her friend. There was a faint smile 

on the old nun’s lips, as though she saw the Irish 
burning. The gossipy old nuns were now tearful. 

The priest told of God’s work, while sun shad- 
ows danced across the chapel and burned the lamp 
of the sanctuary a rubier red. 

The pensive girl listened, and as the priest talked 
her mood turned into one of whimsical sadness. 
Above her red and blue angels flew around the 
mighty figure of God seated in a chair which was 
enveloped in a white cloud. Sister Marie was with 
him, and after all she was happier. And Alice half 
wished she also were up with God. 

The high chapel ceiling, painted by a rustic ar- 
tist to represent God ruling the starry heavens, was 
a never-failing source of wonder to Alice. 

‘Sister Marie had told her about the man who 
had painted the ceiling. ““He had a long white beard 
an’ he talked like a German an’ he worked up there 
weeks an’ weeks an’ weeks an’ once they came in 
the chapel an’ he was kneelin’ down in front of the 
great figure of God—us sisters all thought God’s 
face looked sadder in the picture after that. . . .” 

‘The priest’s voice brought Alice from revery. The 


[71 


Circus Parade 


priest, a powerful man, held his arm high. Silver and 
green embroidery glistened under his white surplice. 
That hour was burned forever in the memory of 
Alice. The priest remained a symbol of all man- 
hood to her. She confused him with God—and held 
ever afterward the blending of the two as her great 
unknown lover. 

At twenty-seven, in spite of vicious environments, 
save for rough repartee now and then, she was still 
clean of heart and mind—as virginal as Sister 
Marie. The old nun had often talked of being “mar- 
ried to God.” Years later the Moss-Haired Girl 
said, “He’s really the Great Lover—no worry of 
children or sickness—and never any desertion—and 
always understanding—and if you lose in the end 
—and He’s only an illusion—you’ve had the fun of 
kidding yourself a whole lifetime—that in itself is 
God!” 

The sermon ended, the priest threw holy water 
over the long sleeping Sister Marie. 

The body was borne out of the chapel, the con- 
vent girls following, and then the nuns, and then 
the priest and his altar boys. The palms of all hands 
were pressed tightly together, the fingers pointing 
upward, while the priest’s heavy voice could be 


[72] 


The Moss-Haired Girl 


heard above the musical girlish voices of Alice and 
her comrades in the beautiful Te Deum. 

Sister Marie was placed in a square black hearse 
while her friends followed in dilapidated busses 
which rumbled over the yellow sand to a slight ele- 
vation dotted with palms, sagebrush and cactus. 
Far away the tops of mountains glimmered radiant 
_ white in the sun. 

It was early spring on the desert. The immense 
yellow valley seemed a shining mirror upon which 
was painted green, yellow, red, and gold patches of 
wildflowers, soon to fade like Alice’s doll under 
the sun’s torrid flame. The vastness, the immensity, 
crept into Alice, which, combined with her re- 
pressed grief, made her silent for days—and gave 
her, for the rest of her life, a touch of greatness and 
ur.derstanding. 

The priest looked about when the desert sand had 
finished rattling on Sister Marie’s coffin. Alice 
rushed up to him, breaking the stillness of the desert 
with a wail. “Father, father—she’s gone—oh, oh— 
she’s gone . . .” She sobbed violently, her cheek 
against his surplice. 

The kindly and good man brushed the grey hair 
out of his eyes, as Alice, still sobbing convulsively, 


[731] 


Circus Parade 


her beautiful young body shaking, now knelt be- 
fore him. 

Wind and sun-tanned nuns and girls budding into 
‘full life gathered about the two. 

“Tt’s all right, Alice dear,’ the gentleman said, 
“lean on me as you would on your Heavenly 
Father. She is not gone—all the rolling seas can- 
not wash her memory away—she is no more gone, 
Alice dear, than you are gone—that which God has 
made to live and breathe can never disappear. You 
see, dear child, we are merely serving Him here 


for a little while—then we too shall go away to take ~ 


up our work elsewhere—with more love for beauty 
and service—on and on and on—eternally serving 
in our Master’s cause.’’ He placed his hand on 
Alice’s head. She rose with wet eyes and clung to 
him. 

All silently returned to the convent. 

Looking back in the direction of the cemetery 
Alice saw a great ship sailing high in the desert air 
above Sister Marie’s grave. A beautiful city and a 
golden port stretched miles to the west. Another and 
another ship joined the first. In each vessel were 
beautiful angels with faces pink and white, clear 
cut as cameos, and garlanded with flowers. And as 
she looked, another city formed in the sky. The 


[741] 


The Moss-Haired Girl 


streets were an indigo blue, and all the people, 
plainly seen, were more beautiful than the finest 
illustrations in her fairy books. 

Immense trees grew everywhere and on their 
branches hung roses of every shape and color. Birds 
larger than condors, brilliant and many colored, 
flew lazily and majestically above the golden-green 
and blue cities. 

And as Alice gazed, the birds formed in squadrons 
and darted downward to Sister Marie’s grave. It 
opened wide and there emerged a beautiful Indian 
girl a few years older than Alice. It looked to the 
girl like Sister Marie must have looked in the long 
ago. 

Her limbs and body were as shapely as thé statue 
of Saint Teresa in Father Maloney’s study. Her 
eyes were as radiant as the sun and her hair, a bluish 
black, rippled as though fanned by the wings of 
larks. 

The girls waited until the young Sister Marie 
raised her arms. She was lifted suddenly and grace- 
fully into the air and rested on the back of the most 
beautiful bird of all. Each bird stretched out its 
wings and made no other motion. Sister Marie, on 
the large bird in the centre, sat upright and waved 
her hands at Alice as all the birds, wings out- 


[75 


Circus Parade 


stretched and motionless, sailed swifter than light 
above the streets of the golden cities. 

“Father, Father,” exclaimed Alice, “I see Sister 
Marie! . . . she is very beautiful.” 

The priest caressed the girl. “That is her soul, 
dear child, going back to God.” Then slowly, “The 
soul of Sister Marie was always beautiful.” 

Alice no longer loved the convent. 

Sister Marie had always been fond of Alice’s 
hair, She tried every method she could contrive to 
make it more beautiful. It reached to her knees. 

At an amateur theatrical after Lent, in the con- 
vent, Alice appeared as the Moss-Haired Girl. The 
aged nun knew the nature of many herbs and wild- 
flowers. By a process of her own, she had combined 
some concoction with two bottles of stale beer which 
the priest had discarded, and washing Alice’s hair 
with the solution, it was made to resemble moss. 
The other girls were mystified. Sister Marie gave 
the secrets of her formula to Alice who had occa- 
sion afterwards to use it often. 

Alice always enjoyed seeing beautiful hair. Once, 
in the convent, after a young woman had taken her 
final vows, Alice climbed on a ladder and saw two 
nuns cutting away long strands of sunny blonde 
hair. Alice felt sad for days. 


[76] 


The Moss-Haired Girl 


Two years later Father Maloney’s soul was 
borne away by the birds. 

Alice left the convent and grew tired of her harsh 
mother in two months. More and more as she grew 
older did she revert to the ways of the Indian. With 
a good singing voice, she joined a carnival company. 
Life in a tent appealed strongly to her. Once, when 
too hoarse to sing, she washed her hair with the 
solution and became the leading attraction with 
the carnival. 

And thus was born the beautiful Moss-Haired 
Girl, who delighted thousands of women twice ten 
years ago. 


[771 


V: Murder for Pity 


V: Murder for Pity 


E left , and traveled leisurely to 

Our train literally crawled through the 

Ozark region of Missouri. Cameron stormed at the 
slow pace and feared we would arrive a day late. 

“Let the old devil worry,” said Jock. “Maybe 

some other guy’ll get killed an’ he can cash in 


again.” 

There were seven of us in the open door of a 
horse car. It was a happy time in our lives—an 
oasis that made our vagabond hearts pump fast. 
There would be no care and little work for thirty 
hours at least. Our food was assured and our lousy 
bunks were ready. 

The sun dazzled over green fields, running brooks 
and distant hills in a section of the world that is 
second to none in beauty. Morons, cynical and bru- 
tal and bewhipt of life many of us were, we re- 
sponded to the passing beauty and our moods were 
high. 

Rosebud Bates had joined our group at the last 
stop. He had friends in Jock and myself. No man 


[31] 


Circus Parade 


dared to be uncivil with Jock. He was a man who 
would have shoved Napoleon off the road. A dozen 
years on the race tracks as exercise boy and later a 
famous jockey, a murder in his pocket, twenty years — 
in a penitentiary, and his body a sieve for morphine, 
he was, nevertheless, a strong and humane person. 

The horses would whinny when he drew near. 
He would talk to them as though they were people. 

“They never double-cross you, kid, an’ they give 
you more than they take. They call ’em dumb ani- 
mals—it’s people that’s dumb—I know.” 

Among us was Goosey, the elephant trainer. He 
was a man in the middle thirties with no chin. His 
face was bent like a quarter moon in the middle. His 
nose was abnormally long and hooked. It hung over 
his mouth like a beak. He was sensitive to the touch 
of a human hand on any part of his anatomy. If a 
finger was laid upon his body unexpectedly he 
would jump several feet. We called him Goosey, a 
nickname given men of his type in our world. The 
men often teased him. Jock would allow no man 
to touch Goosey in his presence. 

Another fellow had joined us the day before. He 
had worked hard, and was here, there and every- 
where when we loaded the circus. He was about six 
feet tall, immensely proportioned, a heavy face with 


[82] 


Murder for Pity 


deep hollows in his cheeks, and mouth which he 
closed like a vise. He had no coat. He wore a straw 
hat with half of the rim gone, and a heavy and 
greasy blue flannel shirt. Wide open at the throat, 
it showed a matted chest which the sun had burned 
a deep red. There was a battleship tattooed under 
the hair. He had the restless furtive look about his 
eyes which I early observed as a lad on the road 
—the eyes of men who never rested. Vagabonds all, 
their bodily and mental faculties may have been 
dead. But their eyes were always alert, quickly not- 
ing everything that pertained to ways of vagabond- 
age—theft, destitution and dirt. The wolf learns - 
cunning to survive; the vagabond observation. I 
could tell by his manner that he was old in the ways 
of the road. 

There was another indescribable little man with 
us. He was more ordinary than a weed on a farm. So 
negative was he that across the years I can barely 
see the blur of him in a pair of overalls. 

“Well this beats bummin’ our way,” said the 
last man, glancing across a green field. 

“Maybe so, maybe so, but J’]l jump the outfit 
before we hit where we’re goin’,” said the man 
with the tanned breast and blue flannel shirt. “The 
old road knocks hell outta you, but there hain’t no- 


[831] 


Circus Parade 


body your boss,’’ he added, looking about him. 

‘“‘Everybody’s your boss when you’re on the bum, 
Mate,” laughed ni “every woman you beg and 
every cop you see.’ 

Jock suddenly looked up at the sun. Three quar- 
ters down the sky, it drew many shafts of light 
from the clouded horizon, which made it resemble an 
immense half-wheel. 

“God Almighty, ain’t that great,” he half- 
shouted. “Holy God,” his head shook with wonder. 
“It’s enough to drive you nuts.” Jock shifted about 
nervously. I knew that the urge for morphine was 
upon him. He threw his head far back, then rolled 
it from side to side as if to rest the base of his 
brain. 

He went to another part of the car and sat quite 
still. 

The vagabond in the blue flannel shirt sang: 


We are two tramps, two jolly old tramps, 
We're happy as two Turks, 

We have good luck in bummin’ our chuck 
An to hell wit’ the man that works. 


Finishing the verse, he turned to me. 
“You people played the South, didn’t you?” 


[847] 


Murder for Pity 


“Sure . . . we’ve been down through there,” I 
answered. 

“So’ve I. I just came from that way myself. It’s 
damn hard ridin’, brother. They hain’t civilized 
down there yet.” He rubbed his matted chest, then 
took off his torn straw hat and scratched his head. 
“They stuck me six months down there, by God, 
damn near killed me. Got me under the platform 
in the Montgomery freight yards on the L. & N. It 
was colder’n hell and the wind blew through your 
whiskers a mile and a half a minute. A hundred an’ 
eighty days the judge soaked me—in a coal mine. 
I'd been in the navy, got soused in Birmingham an’ 
some bloke rolled me for all the dough I had. I had 
nothin’ on me at all. The desk sergeant books me 
on as D.S. (dangerous and suspicious), for I was 
a husky baby an’ they needed guys for the coal 
mines. 

_ “We were all lined up before the judge who was 
a cockeyed little pimple of a man, squirtin’ tobacco 
juice all the time. He laughed in our faces, an’ there 
was about twenty of us. He had the cops sort us 
out, the big guys, the medium guys an’ the little 
guys. An’ he says to about five of the biggest of 
us, ‘You big fellows there, a hundred and eighty 
days each in the coal mines—hard labor. A hun- 


[35] 


Circus Parade 


dred days for you medium guys—same thing. And 
you little guys’-—an’ I watched ’em all stand up like 
they was goin’ to git off easy—‘a hundred an’ ninety 
days, cause you can’t do as much work as the other 
hoboes.’ The judge laughed out loud at his joke. 

“T says under my breath, ‘You dirty dog.’ The 
cop says, “‘What’s that?’ an’ I thinks fast an’ says, 
‘I was just figgerin’ up how long Id be in.’ “You'd 
better be,’ says the cop.” 

The vagabond scratched his breast again. 

“Some day I'll kill that God damn judge. Tl 
go roamin’ through there wit’ a gat an’ shoot him 
at his table. He deserves a dose of lead to let the 
poison outta his black heart. ve been a bum all my 
life an’ joined the navy to see the world when Roose- 
velt had the ships go round it. By God, all I did was 
shovel coal in four shifts an’ was so damn tired 
when my relief come I couldn’t even see outta the 
port hole. I beat it away from the damn nayy at 
Frisco an’ headed for New Orleans. 

“I’d made too fast a time for them ever to get 
my mug up as a deserter. Believe me, boes, that 
join’ the navy to see the world’s like a wild woman 
dreamin’ o’ bein’ tame. It just ain’t done this year. 

“Anyhow, I did the six months with another 
buddy. It drove him clean nuts. When he got out 


[86] 


Murder for Pity 


he thought he was Andy Carnay-gie an’ owned a 
steel mill, the poor devil. He kep’ sayin’ the day we 
got out, ‘Get to work there, men, get to work there. 
There ain’t nothin’ like work boys, nothin’ like 
work. An’ save your money, boys, save your money. 
Andy Carnay-gie, that’s me, always saved his 
money.’ I had to walk along the tracks so damn 
weary my knees knocked together and listen to this 
poor goof rave.” 

We stopped at a siding. There was a lull. We 
heard a supper bell ringing far away. 

“That bird’s got it on us,”’ said the indescribable 
vagrant. ‘He kin go in an’ sit down to a warm feed 
an’ sleep wit’ a woman in clean sheets that hain’t 
lousy. An’ he kin pat his little wife in the mornin’ 
an’ she’ll get up an’ cook him some ham an’ eggs— 
an’ all’s dandy for the day.” 

“Yeah, hell,” snapped the man in the blue shirt, 
“he probably wishes he was us. Them damned clod- 
hoppers hain’t no happier’n we are. They’re like 
a lotta cows.” 

“Well, what happened to the nutty guy?’ I 
asked as Jock joined us, his eyes dilated. 

“Oh yeah,” resumed the man quickly. ‘““Well, sir, 
you know, the dark and all that—it ruins your eyes. 
Six months of it, you know, by God. Purple things 


[87] 


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begin to dance in front of you. I kep’ mine closed 
much as possible, 

“Well, bein’ up in the light the first day after 
six months nearly drove him nuts besides.”’ We all 
looked quickly at each other as he went on. “I don’t 
claim to have any heart. It don’t make a damn bit 
of difference. I had a notion to bump him off myself 
the first night. Then I changed my mind. 

“He kep’ askin’ me, ‘if I git nutty, bump me off, 
won’t you Buddy, afore Alabama gits me agin. 
You'll be doin’ me a big favor, honest you will. 
They’d only kill me and give me to kid doctors to 
cut up.’ 

“The next night he got worse an’ set a store on 
fire. J got him outta that scrape after knockin’ him 
cold by sloughin’ him on the jaw an’ carryin’ him 
four blocks to the railroad yards. I thought sure 
I’d cracked him hard enough to put him out till 
mornin’. So I snoozed off, and along about mornin’ 
I heard the damndest explosion in the world. It 
shook me where I lay. I jumped up off the box-car 
floor where we’d flopped, and my buddy was gone. 
Right away I ran down the track in the direction of 
a burnin’ box car. The yards were light as day. I 
saw a guy runnin’ away out at the edge of the tracks — 
carryin’ a torch. All of a sudden there was an- 


[88] 


Murder for Pity 


other explosion an’ I was knocked to the ground. I 
jumped up, and, by God, there was another blast, 
an’ I don’t know whether I was knocked down or 
just plain fell flat. But I got up again an’ ran after 
the guy wit’ the torch. It was my buddy. When he 
saw me comin’ he yells: 

“I’m gettin’ even with the God damn state of 
Alabama. I’m runnin’ to Montgomery to blow the 
damn judge up.’ 

“TI kep’ laughin’ easy till I come up close to him. 
An’ then I let him have it right on the point of the 
jaw. It knocked him cold an’ the torch fell. I 
jumped on it quick an’ put it out. Then I grabbed 
my buddy and took him a coupla hundred feet back 
of an old shed that was used to store cotton. 

“My buddy left his shoes in the car, an’ the ex- 
plosion had scared me. An’, by thunder, I left mine 
too—an’ there we were both barefooted an’ a lot of 
burnin’ box cars makin’ the yards lighter’n hell. 
His ankles were bleedin’ from the chains that ’ad 
been on ’em six months, an’ I was scared they might 
track him by the blood. 

“As quick as I could get my noodle workin’ I 
searched him. 

“He had a blue gat shoved in his inside coat 
pocket, wit’ three bullets outta the barrel. This 


[89] 


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scared the livin’ hell right outta me. I knew if they 
caught me I’d swing for murder. I went off my nut 
for a minute an’ thought I heard a lotta bloodhounds 
bayin’ right outside. It all came to me in a flash. 
I’d remembered seein’ a half dozen cars in the yards 
marked red on the cards tacked to ’em: 


DANGEROUS 
High Explosives 
Keep Lights and Fires Away 


I never thought my nutty buddy’d seen ’em, but 
he had. An’ mind you, he was near blind. Then I 
tried to figger out where he got the gat. An’ while 
I was sittin’ there thinkin’, I heard a noise outside. 

“T gripped the gun an’ decided to shoot it out 
with any damn cop before he let the air through 
me. Soon everything got quieter an’ I sat there 
holdin’ the gun till it got so damn still you could 
hear a cricket walk. Pd been through so damned 
much that I musta dozed off, but I woke up quick 
wit’ somethin’ snarlin’ at me like a tiger. My arm 
was damn near broke across the wrist. My buddy’d 
cracked it wit’ a club an’ took the gun. I shoved 
in close to him so’s he couldn’t use it, an’ just got 


[90] 


Murder for Pity 


inside in time to push it down an’ she went oft 
between my left armpit an’ my side. It stunned me 
for a second, an’ the old boy grabbed me by the 
throat an’ my tongue popped out. I thought I was 
a goner. I’m strong enough to knock a bull down, 
but that nutty old buddy o’ mine had me comin’ in 
second. He was after my throat an’ I was after the 
gun. Everything went black for a second, an’ I 
thought faster . . .” 

The man with the matted chest stopped talking 
and sighed. Jock lit a kerosene lantern and hung it 
on a nail a few feet above the floor. 

The man felt his throat nervously and resumed: 

“Anyhow I’d made up my mind that if I was 
man enough to twist the gun around an’ pull the 
trigger on my nutty buddy I’d put him outta his 
misery, as it was him or me anyhow. Besides, if 
they'd of got him they’d of hung him or somethin’, 
an’ he was too nutty to do that with. So I just 
couldn’t help havin’ pity for him.. 

“But I never saw anything so strong. His muscles 
were like a lion’s an’ my left arm was goin’ numb 
on me before I twisted the gun aroun’ back of his 
ear an’ the bullet zipped through his head like hot 
water through a pipe. It came out under his left 


[91] 


Circus Parade 
2999 


eye and scraped my cheek and knocked me kickin’! 

“Lordy! Lordy!!” exclaimed Goosey, “it’s a won- 
der you ain’t nutty yourself.” 

‘““Ye—ap, it is a won—der,”’ drawled the prisoner 
from Alabama. 

““How’d you make the getaway?’ Jock asked, 
with roused interest. | 

“God I don’t know. A fellow never knows how 
he does those things. I stuck my buddy between two 
old cotton bales. I thought I was headin’ north, but 
got all balled up an’ headed in the direction of 
Pensacola. I musta beat it fifteen miles without 
stoppin’—right across country wit’ no more shoes 
than a rabbit before I climbed up in a big pine tree 
an’ slep’ there. Then I had to backtrack after I 
watched the sun a minute ’cause I wanted ‘to go 
north. 

“That night I hit a nigger settlement. They give 
me some old shoes and some things an’ let me sleep 
in their shack, an’ they never woke me for a day 
and a half. I’d slep’ that long. Finally, an old grey- 
headed nigger took me in a peddler wagon to the 
Junction, an’ I caught a freight for Birmingham.” 


[92] 


VI: Tales are Told 


VI: Tales are Told 


SOLEMN silence followed the man’s tale. 

We all sat very still and looked straight ahead. 
Jock rose and seated himself between me and the 
man who had killed his comrade. 

The murderer for pity sat with clenched jaws, 
a look of madness in his eyes. Jock touched him on 
the arm. He jumped and reached for his hip pocket. 

“That’s all right, old scout. You don’t need to 
mind me, I’m all O. K.” Jock paused. “But I’d never 
tell that yarn again if I were you. You'll bump into 
some guy on the road who'll turn you in for a 
plugged nickel.” 

The man’s jaws opened suddenly. “I fot t give 
a damn. I’ll bang the buttons off any damn bull that 
comes near me. I’m willin’ to burn in the chair to 
kill a few cops an’ that judge in Alabama.”’ 

Jock’s voice went easy. We all listened atten- 
tively. “But after you kill ’em all, then what?” he 
asked. 

Jock laughed in his throat, and continued: 

“You know, old boy, you ain’t been through it 


[951] 


Circus Parade 


all. A lot o’ guys have been in longer’n six months 
in a coal mine.” He laughed in his throat again. 
“Christ Almighty, man, that’s only one night com- 
pared to a twenty-year jolt.” 

We stopped at a junction point. 

“Where the hell are we?” someone asked. 

“Some little jerk-water place,” I answered. “The 
‘Missouri Pacific crosses here.” We looked out and 
saw the white tops of two steel rails stretch toward 
the southwest. 

We could hear the restless moving of the ele- 
phants in the car ahead. 

Over the sudden stillness came the dismal whin- 
ing of a hyena. “It’s funny about those damn 
things,” said Goosey, “they know more about the 
weather than the Lord himself. That whine means 
rain within two days. You can’t fool ’em. Their 
whine’s different when it’s goin’ to turn cold. They 
howl louder an’ they start all the other animals 
doin’ the same.”’ He held up his hand as the noise 
became louder. “You see, some more’ve started. 
Them’s the two in the cage with the blind brown 
bear.”’ Suddenly other members of the cat family 
began howling. Then quickly it subsided. 

The sky was blue and purple in the west. 

The engine could be heard taking long tired 


[96] 


‘Tales are Told 


breaths of steam. The elephants still stamped nerv- 
ously. | 

The murderer for pity, jaws unmoving, stared 
into the darkness. 

“More rain,” said a voice. “It’s the wettest year 
I ever seen with the tents.” 

The air turned murky and heavy. Frogs croaked 
along the track. We listened to them for several 
minutes. ) 

“Well,” said Goosey at last, “I think Ill step 
up an’ see how my big babies are makin’ it.’’ He 
jumped out of the car and went toward the ele- 
phants. 

“Think ll take a little walk too,’ said the 
prisoner from Alabama. He pushed his torn straw 
hat low on his head, jumped to the ground quickly 
and walked toward the Missouri Pacific tracks. 

I watched him until he could be seen no more. 

Often I have wondered what became of him, and 
who he was, and from where. With the code of the 
road, we asked no questions. He had volunteered 
much. Like most rovers he had said nothing about his 
identity. He did not return. 

Goosey came back to our car. The train moved on. 

“Tt’s hell, a guy like that runnin’ around loose,” 
said Jock, his mind still with the man who had gone. 


[971] 


Circus Parade 


‘He'll bump somebody off just as sure’s there’s 
noise in dynamite.” Jock whistled and then laughed. 
“Oh well, I should worry a lot an’ build a house. 
It’s no pansies off my grave. But I wouldn’t wanta 
be that judge in Alabama.’ 

“T hope to hell he gets him,” volunteered the in- 
describable man. 

“Me too,” said Goosey, “‘he deserves it.”’ 

“Yes, an’ every other judge, an’ the lawyers too 
—and the cops—kill ’em all, the damn bloody 
bloodsuckers, that’s my motto,” sneered Jock. 

“Don’t you want no law in the world?” asked 
the indescribable man. 

“Law? What the hell’s the good of it?’ leered 
Jock. “If they'd put everybody in jail that’s out, 
an’ let everybody out that’s in, we’d be just as well . 
off. Them on the outside’s the biggest crooks. 
They’re smooth enough to keep out,” he said with 
finality. 

“But wasn’t he a big guy, though. He was tall as 
Denna Wyoming,” I said, in an effort to veer Jock’s 
mind. 

“Yeap,” laughed Jock, “poor old Denna. It took 
a lot of clean dirt to cover him. [ll never forget 
the time he saved Bad Bill the lion from dyin’ of 
pneumonia. He put mustard plasters a yard long 


[98] 


Tales are Told 


on him, an’ now the vicious devil’s up there howlin’ 
an’ Denna’s in his grave.” He sighed. ‘‘Old Cameron 
sure cashed in big when he died.” 

“He was a good fellow,” said Whiteface. 

“None better in the world,” responded Jock. 

“He sure knew how to handle animals,” put in 
Goosey. “One time when Cameron got that lion with 
a lotta boils, Denna just quit feedin’ it fat an’ it 
got all right agin. He’d never feed the lions on Sun- 
day. Makin’ ’em fast one day was good for ’em. 
He’d only give the lions meat an no fat—an’ a big 
bunch. He used to say a little meat was worse’n 
none at all.” 

“Poor old Denna,” Jock said, half reminiscently, 
“he could hold more licker than a copper tank an’ 
never show it. I’ll never forget the time Bad Bill got 
loose on top of the cage—remember that, Goosey ?”’ 
Turning ta me, he said, “That was before you 
joined us, kid. Well you know—the lion used to 
ride on top the cage lyin’ down. It was chained so 
fas’ to the top it couldn’t get up. But the rubes 
couldn’t see the chains. They thought it was just 
lyin’ there peaceful. Six girls used to ride right 
around him; sittin’ there easy like. An’ all the rubes 
seein’ the parade pass by would think how brave 
they were. 


[991] 


Circus Parade 


“Well one time Denna’s helper forgot to chain 
Bill, or else he got loose. Bill stood up an’ looked 
around right where the crowd was the thickest. The 
Strong Woman saw the lion git up and damn near 
fell off on her head. The Moss-Haired Girl just 
says under her breath like to the five others: 

““Just sit real quiet. Maybe he'll think he’s 
chained an’ lie down again.’ The Strong Woman 
and the rest of the girls jist sit there clenchin’ their 
hands. Bad Bill stood up for a block or two, an’ 
sure enough he musta thought he was still chained. 
He sniffed the floor like a cat an’ lay right down 
agin an’ never moved till we got back to the lot. 

“Old Cameron was so tickled at the Moss-Haired 
Girl’s nerve he tried to hug her. ‘How’d you ever 
come to think so fast?’ he asked her. | 

“It wasn’ anything,’ she says right back. ‘Denna 
always told me never to let one of the big cats know 
I was afraid of it. I just remembered, that’s all.’ ” 

“But Pve seen Denna nervous-like. Was he really 
brave?” I asked. 

“T’ve always thought he was the bravest kind of 
a guy,” answered Jock. “He knew he was takin’ 
chances but he kep’ right on. A boob never knows 
when he’s takin’ a chance. A brave man’s a coward 
lots of times, jist like a lion.” 


[100 | 


Tales are Told 


He paused, and then added with more verve, 
“Well, if Bad Bill ever tangles with Royal Bengal 
he'll get his’n. There can’t no lion lick a tiger.” 

“Yeah, dey kin,” said Whiteface. 

Ignoring the shift in conversation, Goosey com- 
mented, “It’s jist like an elephant or a lion. They 
hain’t always brave. I guess it’s ’cordin’ to how their 
liver’s workin’. I'll never forgit the time when I was 
wit’ the Wallace shows. An elephant reached out 
its trunk and got hold of the Sacred Bull from In- 
dia’s tail and give it a hell of a yank while he was 
paradin’. That bull roared like old Mahomend him- 
self and rares on his hind legs like he ain’t use to 
such famelarity.”” Goosey laughed. “But you shoulda 
seen the keeper. He was one of them Mohamends 
too. He jumped right up in the air an’ grabbed the 
elephant’s ear an’ started beatin’ him over the head 
wit’ his whip. That elephant woulda killed any 
other guy in the world but that Mahomend. He jist 
lay right down an’ took the beatin’ like he knowed 
he’d done somethin’ unholy. Then I comes up an’ 
he sees me an’ gits his nerve back an’ Mahomend 
starts to run towards his bull. But he only gits "bout 
four feet when mister elephant reaches out his trunk 
easy like and ketches him around the neck. It gives 
him a little flip an’ up he goes in the air like a 


[101 | 


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bird an’ down he comes like a ton o’ brick an’ lights 
right on the back of mister bull from India. Well, 
sir, youda thought it ’ud caught Mahomend shootin’ 
craps. It jist bellered an’ stuck its head an’ started 
to run an’ it darn near busted up the parade. You 
see, them bulls ’re saccerd. They’ve been blessed by 
the Pope or somethin’ an’ they hain’t used to ele- 
phants pullin’ their tails ’er havin’ people light on 
their back that way. But you see how that elephant 
wasn’t brave at first.”’ 

The tale of the Sacred Bull had amused White- 
face. He laughed often, his white teeth showing dis- 
tinctly in the uneven light. 

“That reminds me,” said the Indescribable One, 
“of the time I was on the bum wit’ a venterliquist. 
They was passin’ the collection box in church when 
he throws his voice up behin’ the altar an’ says to 
the preacher, ‘Who the hell told you that you was 
right, you old fathead? Look at me. I’m your God 
up in the ceilin’. An’ all the rubes look up, an’ he 
takes the collection box an’ walks outta the church 
wit’ it, me followin’ after him. That preacher darn 
near sits down right there. You see it got him when 
his liver wasn’t good or somethin’. You're right, 
Jock, them things do happen. Anyhow we beats it 
to a restaurant and after we has two big beefsteaks 


[102] 


Tales are Told 


my buddy he says to me, ‘Now that you gotta chance 
you'd better eat enough for tomorrow.’ 

““God! [ll say I will,’ I says, ‘but gimme time. 
I hain’t et enough for yisterday yit.’ ” 

Everybody laughed while the engine whistled 
fiev times to call in the flagman. 

The car, in spite of the open door, became nau- 
seating. The heavy air did not move swiftly enough 
to carry the many odors of the circus away from the 
track. 

“T wish the train ’ud move. The damn circus 
don’t smell so bad when we’re runnin’,” said Jock. 

“Smoke cigarettes like I do,’ advised the Inde- 
scribable One, “then you can’t smell it so much.” 

Soon several cigarettes were lit. 

“Some one done tell me we was goin’ furder 
away daown south?” Whiteface, the tall Negro in 
the group, asked anxiously. , 

“Yeap, that’s so Whiteface. We’re circlin’ 
through Arkansas, then over through another part 
of Lousiana till we hit the gulf, so they tell me,” 
Jock volunteered. “But don’t you never mind.” 

“Well it do make some neber mind to me, say 
what you don’t please no time.” 

The worried expression soon left the Negro’s face 
and he whistled his favorite verse: 


[103] 


Circus Parade 


My masteh had a yaller gal, 

An she was frum the Souf; — 
Her hair it kinked so berry tight, 
She coulden shut her mouf. 


He laughed musically. ‘““Ah’se dreamin’ last night 
ah’se a big white buhd a flyin’ aroun’, an’ somebody 
squirts lotta ink on me. Wasen dat a funny dream?” 

The giant Negro’s carefree manner had made me 
his friend. “Tl say it was, Whiteface.” The Negro 
sat very still with a wide smile on his face. 

‘Talkin’ about dreams, Whiteface,” said Jock, 
“let me tell you one I heard from an acrobat who'd 
been over’n England wit’ Barnum. It sure knocked 
me for a loop an’ I can’t forget it.” 

“Dat so—dat so?’ And the Negro smiled anx- 
iously. | 

“It’s about three people dreamin’ the same thing ~ 
at the same time.” Jock looked keenly at Whiteface. 

“Do fell,” pleaded the Negro. 

“Well now you gotta get it straight,” and Jock 
addressed himself to Whiteface as if he were the 
only one in the audience. “This acrobat’s wife lived 
down near Buffalo an’ she’d never seen the ocean— 
remember that.” 


[104] 


Tales are Told 


“Ah will,” the Negro answered quickly, and 
leaned forward as though his life depended on every 
word. 

“Well this acrobat took a low black steamer 
home. It was crowded as the devil and he had to 
share a room with another guy. He was homesick to 
see his wife and he went to bed thinkin’ about her. 
There was a big storm and the boat rolled all over 
the ocean before he finally got to sleep. The guy 
over’n the other bed was snorin’ like an Erie freight 
engine by that time. 

“When the acrobat did get to sleep he dreamt 
his wife came into the room and stood still for a 
minute when she saw another guy asleep across 
from her man. She held her hands together and at 
last got up nerve to go over to her husband and tuck 
him in and then kiss him goodnight. Nervous-like, 
she looked over to the guy who was still snorin’ and 
hurried outta the room.” 

Jock paused for a long effect. 

“Ts dat all?” asked Whiteface impatiently. 

“Tl say it ain’t,” replied Jock much pleased. “It 
ain’t even the starter.” 

“Go on, go on,” said Whiteface. 

Jock smiled crookedly. 


[1051] 


Circus Parade 


“Well when both the guys woke up in the mornin’ 
and started dressin’, the snorin’ guy says to the 
acrobat: 

‘“*You’re a dandy, havin’ a good lookin’ Jane 
come into the room and hug an’ kiss you. I laid there 
hopin’ she’d come over an’ give me a smack.’ 

‘The acrobat was so surprised you coulda knocked 
him over wit’ a feather. : 

‘What did the woman look like? he asked his 
room mate. 

“You coulda knocked him over wit’ half a feather 
when the guy described the acrobat’s wife to him. 

“My God,’ he yells. An’ all that trip he’d not 
go near the other fellow. He had his room changed 
an’ everything. He thought he was a devil. 

“When the acrobat got to New York he took a 
train for the burg near Buffalo. His wife said to 
him right away, ‘Dear, you had a stormy voyage at 
first, didn’t you?’ 

“*Yes,’ he said. ‘How’d you know, sweetheart?’ 

““*Well the first night I knew you were leavin’ 
Liverpool I dreamt it was awful stormy and your 
little low black boat was rockin’ about as if it would 
be washed under any minute. 

“IT was dreadfully frightened and hurried to 
your state-room. I got half way in before I saw a 


[106] 


Tales are Told 


man sleepin’ in the other bed. I stopped in the 
middle of the floor and gathered my courage to- 
gether and went over and tucked you in and kissed 
you goodnight. The man was so strange lookin’ that 
I was scared of him and hurried out.’ 

“ “What did he look like?” her husband asked. 

“An’ the acrobat’s wife described the guy in the 
state-room she had never seen only in a dream. She’d 
never seen the boat either for that matter and she 
had it down pat too.” 

Jock paused and looked at Whiteface. His eyes 
were larger than usual. The smile had been routed 
by a more serious expression. 

“Lawdy! Lawdy! dat suah am spooky. What 
kinda licker dem folks drinkin’ nohow?” 

Jock laughed. “No kind at all, Whiteface. The 
brain’s a funny thing. Just think how them three 
people saw the same thing at the same time. I'll say 
the brain’s funny.” 

“My brain ain’t dat funny, Misteh Jock. An’ 
what’s some moah I woan habe no brain ’tall if eveh 
I heahs many moah tales like dat one.” 

“You're sure right, Whiteface. I think we'd all 
better hit the hay on that yarn,” laughed Goosey. 

“When’ll we strike?” I asked. 

“About eight in the morning. We’ll parade be- 

[107] 


TOW,” laHiehied Jock, ‘“‘so I'll ound 
fellows can do what you like.” 
Achat We slept while our weird caravan 
; “ arget the ties. 


VIL: Without What? 


VII: Without What? 


E arrived in , Arkansas, completely 
_ rested and in high spirits. 

Cameron walked about the lot after the tent was 
up and rubbed his hands gleefully. Slug Finnerty, 
his one eye now open, prepared his blue ticket 
wagon early. Rosebud and the other musicians prac- 
ticed in their tent. The Strong Woman sang Die 
Wacht am Rhein, while a few stray ‘‘rubes”’ stood 
outside her little tent and listened. 

Goosey had his three elephants ready for parade 
early. One of his helpers, a boy like myself, had 
deserted the circus. Some one always rode each ele- 
phant in parade. Cameron ordered me to ride in the 
boy’s place. Goosey rigged me out in an Arab cos- 
tume. 

“Arabs don’t ride elephants, Goosey, do they?” 
I asked. 

“They do wit’ this circus, kid,’ he answered. 
“That’s the only outfit we got left.” 

The ragged roustabouts with the circus would 
immediately feel all-important once they donned 


[111] 


Circus Parade 


the vari-colored uniforms for parade. But the lice 
bit viciously beneath their gaudy apparel, and often, 
though clad in sumptuous regalia, our minds were 
on lesser things. 

News of our hey rube battle had not reached this 
section. The lot was crowded with people. 

As I stood near the elephant with Goosey, who 
was ready to place me on its back, Cameron ap- 
proached. 

“We'll clean up a lotta money today, Goosey,”’ 
he smiled, and walked on. 

“He means he’ll clean up the money, the old 
bum. All I'll do is clean up after the elephants. The 
old cuss is just castrated wit’ joy when he makes 
a lotta money.’’ And Goosey frowned as he put his 
animals in line for parade. 

We made a triumphant tour of the town. We 
returned to the lot where a huge crowd awaited 
us. The midway was crowded. 

Our ‘world’s champion” high diver had just 
hurled himself from an eighty foot ladder into a 
small tank of water. He came out dripping and 
shivering. A lithe-limbed boy stood on his hands 
atop a red wagon. His body formed a curve. The 
crowd applauded. Climbing down he saw the flag 
on the cook-tent and hurried away to his dinner. 


[112] 


Without What? 


The snake-charmer waved a rock python about 
while the spieler clanged on an iron triangle to draw 
the crowd. His place was quickly taken by a swarthy 
fellow who pounded a huge drum with his hand. 
He was joined by a darker chap who played a ter- 
rifying tune on a weird clarinet. Then Socrates 
Whipper, the spieler, appeared again. 

He beamed the benevolence of a country minis- 
ter. He looked like a man who had a world to save. 
A black string tie was crooked on his ‘“‘come to Je- 
sus” collar. A ring made out of a horseshoe nail 
was on the third finger of his left hand. He held 
the thumb of it in his vest. A large Elk tooth, col- 
ored green, hung from a heavy gold chain stretched 
across his vest. There was a look of sadness about 
his eyes. Strangely enough, they danced with 
humor when he smiled. His lower jaw was 
longer than daylight, and moved swiftly. His 
words were as smooth as an egg in wine. He was 
saying: | 

“Lefita, the favorite dancer of the Sultan, who 
escaped the horrors of a Turkish harem and was 
brought to this country by the generous owners of 
this circus to present for you the secret dances of 
Egypt. She knows the lure of the dances of the 
world. She it was who danced for the kings of im- 


[113] 


Circus Parade 


potent glory. E-v-e-r-y mu-s-cl-e-e-v-e-ry-fib-er in 
this little la-dees ana-tom-ee quiver-s and shakes like 
an aspen leaf in a gale of wind-or like a bowl of 
jell-ee, gentlezzen-on a cold and frost-ee morning. 
She makes the old feel young and the young feel 
gay, the blind to see and cripples to throw their 
crutches away.” 

Lefita appeared behind the benevolent-looking 
spieler and gave a body quiver that started at her 
feet and rolled upward. Her copper-colored form 
was fascinating. It moved with the poetry of mo- 
tion as she walked away. 

“The little lady will retire. The show will start 
immediately. All will be out and over before the 
big show commences. There are three ticket boxes 
—tickets a quarter, twenty-five cents. You will see 
the little people, the pygmies, the Bearded Lady, 
and Amy. The wonderful Amy weighs seven hun- 
dred and ninety pounds, and yet is as dainty as any 
of her sisters. You will see the sword swallower, 
the glass blowers from Bohemia, and many danger- 
ous reptiles in a glass-enclosed den. All for twenty- 
five cents.” 

‘As the din died away the listeners filed inside. 
Shadows danced across the trampled grass within. 
Green flies buzzed about mournfully. 


[114] 


Without What? 


The Moss-Haired Girl, the Strong Woman and 
other freaks, having just returned from the cook- 
tent, were mounting their stands and arranging 
photographs, which they sold. The sword-swallower 
wiped her nickle-plated weapon with a soft cloth. 
The snake-charmer confided to Bosco, the wild man, 
her worry about a sinuous pet. 

“He’s got a canker in his mouth and I’ve touched 
it with caustic and washed it with bismuth but it 
just don’t seem to do no good. He’s due to eat next 
month and I’m worried as all hell. I hope it’ll be 
‘well by then.” 

She looked concerned toward the wild man, who 
advised : 

“Lemme tell you. Jest clean it out a weeny teeny 
bit and put a midgie piece o’ saltpeter on it. That'll 
fix it up. I did that with a big anaconda for Millie 
Delay when I was a spieler for the Sparks show.” 

The benevolent-looking spieler followed the 
crowd inside and went from one platform to an- 
other until he came to the far end where stood the 
charming Lefita. He beamed beside her. 

A crowd of men stood in front of them. Of all 
ages, with expressions of sex-wonder in their eyes, 
gazing curiously as men will who cannot solve a 
mystery that populates graveyards and through the 


[115] 


Circus Parade 


ages has sent poets, popes, kings and fools to the 
junk-heap. 

The drum throbbed. The clarinet shrieked. Lefita 
shivered languidly. The music became more violent 
and Lefita’s body kept in tune. It moved like some- 
thing boneless but sensuous. 

The movement ended in a gyration that seemed 
to leave her exhausted. It was a short dance. The 
onlookers stood curious and expectant. The spieler 
then called them closer and said blandly, “TI recog- 
nize some real sports amongst you, gentlemen, with 
good red blood coursing through your corpuscles. 
But would you like it, gentlemen, if this little lady 
would put on a special show for you? She just told 
me inside that she had never seen so many handsome 
men—and the young lady sees a great many.” 

The center of the young lady’s body moved sen- 
suously. 

“Sure! Sure! Sure!!” yelled a chorus of shilla- 
bers. (A shillaber is a herder of suckers.) They were 
noisy in eagerness. 

“Go easy, gentlemen,’’ admonished the spieler, 
“we mustn’t overstep the bounds of the conventions. 
The young lady is very temperamental and loud 
demonstrations interfere with her body movements.” 

The shillabers were still insistent. 


[116] 


Without What? 


“No, wait a moment, gentlemen,” said the spieler 
as he stopped to plead with Lefita, who hung her 
head, pouting, her splendid body moving the while 
as she shook her head coyly and disappeared. The 
shillabers made another demonstration in which 
the other onlookers joined. 

“Of course, gentlemen, there will be an extra 
charge for this—just a thin silver dollar apiece— 
and of course all that we collect will go to the little 
lady herself. The little girl will be glad to give 
the special engagement for you. Move closer boys, 
move closer.’ He made a motion with his hand. 
“Listen, if you boys ever had that funny feeling— 
you know—she’ll give it to you as you’ve never 
had it before. You know the Sultan of Turkey and 
the King of England’s each got a lot of wives and 
seeing women is of course no preponderant mystery 
to them, but they got a rise out of Lefita. . . .” 

The shillabers pushed forward, carrying the 
crowd with them. 

“Don’t crowd, folks. Remember always that you 
are American gentlemen,” said the spieler. 

Then a shillaber’s voice boomed: 

“I say, Professor, I wonder if she’ll give that 
doniker dance she put on over in Emoryville the 
other night.” 


[117] 


Circus Parade 


The spieler rubbed his hands, puzzled. 

“Oh you mean that special show we put on at 
the Elks’ lodge?’ 

“Yep, that’s it,’ answered the shillaber. 

‘Well, you boys are hot sports all right. Pll go 
in and ask her if she will. But of course, in all fair- 
ness, it should cost fifty cents more apiece.” 

The men eagerly awaited the return of the 
spieler. While he was gone the shillaber who 
had asked for the doniker dance described in a 
loud voice the dance he had seen at the Elks’ blow- — 
out. 

The spieler returned with a cautious expression. 

“There are no police amongst you, is there?” 

Many voices answered in unison: 

“No!” 

“Well,” he went on, “the little lady said she’d 
do it all right. It’s very trying, you know, you never 
saw such a movement. Lord, what passion! But, as 
I say, it will cost fifty cents extra, a small dollar 
and a half. A show the like of which you'll never 
see this side of heaven again.” 

Another shillaber clapped his hands loudly. 

“What do you say, gentlemen, if we all chip in 
another half dollar and give it to the lady. Two 
little silver dollars ain’t much and look what a show 


[118] 


Without What? 


we'll see. We may as well be real sports. We don’t 
see things like this every day, and I’m for helpin’ 
the little girl. We've all got sisters and mothers 
and they’ve got to git along. And if we gentlemen 
don’t help them, who will?’ Two other shillabers 
cried, ‘““Here’s my two dollars.” 

One after another several dozen race perpetua- 
tors handed the spieler the required amount. After 
he had collected from the last one, he pulled aside a 
flap of canvas and let the men pass into what seemed 
to be an adjoining tent. 

There was a platform inside upon which Lefita 
did not stand. Fearful music was made upon the 
drum and clarinet. 

“Say, Professor,’ spoke up a shillaber when the 
music ceased, “‘now that we’re in here you be a good 
sport. What’s the matter with having the little lady 
do the dance—wéthout—you know!” 

The spieler looked concerned and cautious at the 
same time. He held up a long smooth hand. “Why, 
boys, I can’t ask her to do that. Gracious, gentle- 
men, this is too much. You should have told me be- 
fore I let you in here that you wanted the whole 
show. Why she got five dollars apiece from the 
Elks last week for putting that on. Sometimes the 
Shriners give her even ten dollars apiece.” He 


[119] 


Circus Parade 


looked about, then spoke softly. “But wait, Pll ask 
her.” 

He was gone for a moment. 

“Gosh, I wish she’d do it without. Boy, O boy— 
she’s got a knockout form. Anna Held’s a blue jay 
compared to her. Zowie, she’d make Julius Seezar 
a bum over night. I never saw nothin’ like her over 
to the Elks,” said a shillaber. 

The dazed members of the stronger sex looked 
at the speaker as the spieler returned. | 
“She doesn’t want to do it for that price, boys, 
and you can’t much blame her. She’s a modest young — 
lady and it’s a very trying dance. Just think, as 
lovely as young Eve in the Garden. Think of it, 
gentlemen, and be lenient. As I say, she got five 

dollars last week over at the Elks.” | 

“Oh well, come on,” said a shillaber impatiently. - 
“Let’s all give another dollar and have the whole 
works.” 

The men trembled in anticipation as the speiler 
raised his hand and said: | 

“Yes, gentlemen, I'll be fair. One dollar more 
each and I'll see that she gives the whole show— 
the Egyptian dance, the doniker dance, and the 
wonderful dance wéthout. Think of it, gentlemen, 
the soul-stirring—the voluptuous—the sensuous— 


[120] 


Without What? 


the wonderful—the maddening dance wthout.”’ 
They all rushed forward with another dollar. | 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, gentlemen,” 
said the spieler as Lefita came through a side wall 
and climbed upon the platform. She danced indif- 
ferently, her body moving slowly. In a short time 
she disappeared. 

“That was just the introduction, gentlemen, 
merely a warming up of her lovely body. In a few 
minutes she will do the dance without.’ He held 
his long smooth hand up again. “Will all you gen- 
tlemen please remove your hats?” he said. 

They did as they were told. 

Lefita appeared and danced again in the same 
apparel. 

A shillaber sneered as Lefita bowed. ‘‘Wthout 
what?” he yelled gruffly. 

“Without your hats on,’ 
of the spieler. 

Suddenly the side-walls dropped and the aston- 
ished spectators found themselves standing in the 
open air. 

They looked at each other sheepishly and melted 
into the crowd. 

The clarinet and the drum again played fearful 


b 


came the bland voice 


music. 


[121] 


Circus Parade 


Lefita rested. The show closed for twenty min- 
utes until other rubes had gathered. Finnerty’s voice 
could be heard. 

“Here you are, ladees and gentlemen. Tickets for 
the great and only—the great and only—I say the 
great and only Cameron’s great combined shows 
just returned from tours of China and Japan and 
other points in the Far West. Be very, very careful, 
gentlemen. We try to run a respectful show, but 
beware of pickpockets. Guard your purses.” 

Socrates Whipple again appeared before Lefita’s 
tent. 

“She is the favorite dancer of the Sultan, ladies 
and gentlemen. She escaped the horrors of his harem 
and was brought to this country by the generous 
owners of this circus for your edification in the 
secret dances of Egypt.” 

And thus the farce was renewed. 

By using every device possible through Arkansas, 
Cameron and his band soon recouped their losses. 

Plundering and stealing, cheating and lying, 
laboring, fighting and loving; taking all we could 
and returning little, we went our careless and irre- 
sponsible ways, with laughter in our hearts and 
sneers on our lips—as anti-social as the hyenas who 
howled at the changes in the weather. 


[122] 


VIII: The Strong Woman 


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VIII: EHE Strong Woman 


HE weighed four hundred pounds. Her neck, 
shoulders and arms bulged with muscle. Her 
torso was set on hips far broader than her shoul- 
ders. Her small head was covered with short curly 
flaxen hair that seemed continually damp. It looked 
as out of place on her mountain of body as a small 
knob on an immense potato. Her feet were usually 
spread apart as if in readiness for some impending 
shock. They were covered with pink sandals and 
fastened with silk ribbons about her giant ankles. 
The circus billed her as “The Female Hercules, 
The Strongest Lady in the World.” The flamboy- 
ant posters showed her as a young Juno with a face 
as placid as Queen Victoria’s. 

Her face was not without attraction. Her eyes 
were blue and beautiful. They stared sadly at a 
world without understanding. She had a red moist 
underlip that trembled with suppressed hurt. She 
would toss her head saucily as if to show the world 
that she was feminine, with the hopes and dreams 
and longings of her sex. 


[1251] 


Circus Parade 


Twenty-five years before she had first opened 
her eyes in a Hanoverian village. She was christened 
Lila. Life laughed at her kindly parents when 
the baby grew out of all proportions. At the age 
of twelve she could carry her father and mother. 
At thirteen she began to support the entire family 
as a weight lifter. 

She came to America at the age of sixteen and 
first appeared in a Chicago Museum on South 
State street. After investing heavily in photographs, 
which did not sell, she broke her contract. The man- 
ager, a waspy little Greek, objected. She twisted 
his neck until he yelled for mercy in Greek and 
English. She then tore through the Museum like 
a raging elephant and left demolished paraphernalia | 
all about her. 

She joined out as a side show attraction with a 
traveling circus, and soon prospered. It was not 
long until she began to clothe herself in the fluffiest 
of dresses and the widest and most beribboned of 
hats. She imprisoned her body in the strongest of 
stays, and did everything to make herself as dainty 
as her little sisters. 

Longing for love, she became an omnivorous 
reader of romance. Always scattered about her were 
paper-backed novels in German and English. They 


[126] 


The Strong Woman 


were worlds into which her tired soul escaped. Her 
lips would move constantly as she read. Every now 
and then a little sigh would escape her. It would be 
followed with a heavier sigh at the end of each 
chapter. She would wipe her blue eyes often at the 
impassioned words uttered by the hero. She would 
be out of patience at the vacillations of the heroine 
who could not recognize true love in the first few 
chapters. When the book had been finished and 
hero and heroine had been united in joy forever, she 
would shake her perspiring flaxen head slowly and 
wipe her eyes, then pat the cover of the book as if 
it were the cheek of a child. ‘‘Ach Gott! How Beeoo- 
tiful. How Sfeet.’’ She would lay the book down 
gently and pick up another which told the same 
story in much the same way. 

Lila had her dreams. And they were not of the 
circus, but always of the man who would come. She 
wanted to make sure and recognize him when he 
did. She often talked of him. At such times she 
would become shy and circumspect. But deep in her 
heavy breast a great urge was pounding. 

She was wealthy as circus people go. She had a 
bundle of express money orders as big as her arm. 
Besides, she carried a “grouch bag’”’ containing two 
thousand dollars. A grouch bag is usually carried 


[127] 


Circus Parade 


suspended by a cord around the neck. It might be 
called the reserve bank of the circus rover. Lila 
often loaned money on proper security and with 
adequate interest. And often, though she became of- 
fended if anyone mentioned it, she gave money to 
those in need. 

Life soon turned a page for Lila. On it were 
written many things. 

The five Padronis sent for a new top-mounter to 
form the pinnacle of their human pyramid act. He 
left a stranded outfit to finish the season with us. 

When Lila first saw Anton the world stood 
still for a moment. It then turned to chaos. He was 
the man. The great strong woman’s body became 
limp and flabby at sight of him. She was filled with 
an ineffable longing. Everything seemed different. 
She gave me five dollars to run an errand for her. 
She was a heroine in one of her paper-backed 
novels. She bought more finery—and shoes that 
hurt her feet. She began to wear a vivid red ribbon 
across her forehead. She also purchased two yards 
of fancy material with which to make new garters. 

Anton sat at a table across from her in the cook 
house. She always watched him, fascinated. He was 
lithe, delicate, and furtive-eyed. Curly knots of 
brown hair formed at the nape of his neck. Lila 


[128] 


The Strong Woman 


made a mental photograph of him every day. She 
filled it with details of her own which she had gar- 
nered from the paper-back novels. 

Alas, poor Lila, the pity of life and the wonder 
—the owls that would be eagles, and Amazons that 
would be sylphs. 

Anton once played with his food as Lila watched. 
He felt superior to the fare placed in front of him. 
“The poor thing,” thought Lila, “maybe he’s sick.” 
She called the waiter and said, “Tell the chef to 
give you some of mine chicken unt to slice it up 
nice.” The waiter started toward the kitchen, non- 
plussed, when Lila called, “Give it to the nice- 
lookin’ man sidding over there,” pointing to Anton. 

When the waiter placed the chicken in front of 
Anton, he looked up in surprise. When told that 
Lila had donated the delicacy, he bowed toward her. 

Lila’s heart pumped faster. 

“Who is the fat heifer?” he asked the waiter. 

“Oh she’s the Female Hercules. She works in the 
side show. She ain’t a bad egg,” replied the waiter. 

“Not half bad,’ commented Anton. ‘Good 
chicken, too.” 

Though contacts between those who work in the 
side show and those who listen to the applause of 
the big top is always limited, they soon became 


[129] 


Circus Parade 


friends. When they first shook hands Anton ex- 
pected crushed fingers. Instead, Lila’s handshake 
was so gentle it would not have crushed a rose-leaf. 
And when Anton smiled at Lila half in ridicule, 
it filled her whole life with joyful madness. She 
would look in his eyes and forget she was the Fe- 
male Hercules. The starved woman’s soul in her 
fluttered and sang. When she turned away from 
Anton he would laugh sardonically. A woman in 
love is not an analyst. Else, whom would she 
marry ? Her eyes held a soft light and her mammoth 
breast filled with desire to embrace the world at 
thought of Anton. 

Trained to see the love-hunger of women, Anton 
made swift love to Lila. She responded, of CORES 
as was her destiny. 

She became more valuable to the be show ; sur- 
passing all previous efforts in weight lifting. Once, 
after Anton had petted her, she lifted eleven New 
York farmers and one editor. 

With increasing strength came increasing dreams. 
She pictured herself in a little white-tiled German - 
kitchen in the valley of the Rhine. She would sing 
to herself as she prepared food for Anton. She saw 
a garden with cabbages, kohlrabbi, carrots and 
onions, and white geese swimming on the river. She 


[130] 


The Strong Woman 


saw Anton, the master, riding a black stallion over 
their farm. And often as she dreamed a voice would 
break in on her reverie—‘Inside, ladies an’ gentle- 
men, is the Female Hercules, the strongest woman 
in the world.” 

Lila was a real woman and not subtle. She told 
Anton how much money she had saved. All unaware 
she immediately became more attractive to him. 

The top-mounter never had money. The dice 
game in the stake and chain wagon was the principal 
reason. He owed five hundred dollars to Buddy Con- 
roy, who operated the game. He had promised to 
pay so much each time the ghost walked. But he 
had not paid. Anton always expected to win a great 
sum at each game. Just why is quite unfathomable. 
Conroy was at the head of an able crew. Any of 
them could take a pair of dice and roll the scale 
—from two to twelve and back again. They would 
shoot dice all summer on the road and work in 
Chicago gambling houses during the winter. 

And once Lila saw Anton dining with Marie, the 
bareback rider, who was slender and beautiful. She 
returned to her tent with heart as heavy as her body 
and picked up a paper-backed novel. She tried to 
read for a long time. Her blue eyes blurred. 

“Tt be not fair,”’ she sobbed. “It be not fair.” 


[131] 


Circus Parade 


She tore the book in two and walked to the mir- 
ror. “Mein Gott,”’ she wailed, “you be not good 
to me.” 

That agony passed quickly. For no woman was 
ever a realist long. 

Lila soon had dreams again. 

While the days merged into fall Anton was a 
busy person. He was winning with Lila and losing 
with Conroy. Somehow he never seemed able to 
pay Conroy anything. Lila had loaned him small 
sums which he always forced her to take back. 

“No gentleman would take money for keeps from 
a woman, Lila, my little dear,” he would tell her. 
And once again Lila saw angels throwing roses from 
the sky. 

It was the last pay-day before the circus closed. 
All wanted to win money for the winter. Excitement 
ran high. 

“Now listen, Mounter, I want you to pay me 
after the game if you win,” said Conroy as he 
winked at a pal. 

“All right, I will,’ answered Anton. “T feel lucky 
today.” 

Anton was really lucky at first. Then a pair of 
loaded dice entered the game. He lost four times 
in a row. The last pass took every cent he had. 


[132] 


The Strong Woman 


After it was over Conroy said, ‘Listen Guy, you 
had your chance. Now’f you don’t pay me before 
the show closes, Pll have the gang beat you up. 
meet’! 

“Tl pay you, Buddy. Just give me time.” 

“Well you better,”’ returned Conroy. 

Anton wandered down the midway thinking of 
Lila. As he approached her stand inside the tent, 
she gave him a warm smile. 

“Say listen, Lila. Pve got something very im- 
portant to talk to you about,” he said, as the band 
blared outside. “Can I see you tonight, Girlie?” 

Lila’s heart leaped. She could hardly control her- 
self. 

“Why—why—yes—come right here after the 
show,” she said, ecstatically. 

“All right, Lila,” replied Anton, a happy lilt in 
his voice. 

“What a cinch,” he thought as he went to his 
dressing-room. 

The evening dragged slowly for Lila. When the 
last show was over she hurried to her tent. She took 
her usual rub-down with more energy and then 
bathed herself with eau-de-cologne. She then dressed 
in her finest garments. 

With trembling fingers she fastened snaps and 


[133] 


Circus Parade 


tied bows. The big moment of her life was rapidly 
approaching. She listened joyfully to the band play- 
ing in the big show. She could tell by the number 
being played how far the show had advanced. It 
would not be long now till the finale. The races 
were now on. She must hurry. She floundered, rhi- 
noceros like, about the tent. She looked in the mirror 
and for the tenth time dabbed powder on her face. 

She then sat down on a specially-built canvas 
chair and tried to compose herself. All the drowned 
emotions of her life bubbled to the surface. She felt 
like singing. Twice she rose and looked out through 
the tent flap. 

Then, as if to control her joy, she sang some mel- 
ancholy German lines: 


And if the stars in heaven 

My sufferings could know, 

Theér light would soon be given 
To lessen of my woe. 


But none of them can know it— 
One only knows my pain; 

And only him could do tt 

Has rent my heart in twain. ... 


[134] 


The Strong Woman 


Her heavy voice boomed through the little tent 
as a sudden burst of wind flapped the covers of her 
paper-backed novels. 

“Something very important’”—her mind clung to 
the words. Then dreams again, more dreams, a long 
honeymoon. Maybe she’d just work at the fairs and 
let Anton run the little farm. Maybe she wouldn’t 
have to lift so many farmers on a plank at the 
fairs—three or four would be enough. That would 
be easy. And it didn’t make no difference if the 
place wasn’t on the Rhine. America was plenty 
good with Anton. A chicken coop chuck full of white 
hens. She closed her eyes and held her head back- 
ward. 

Resting her great hands on the arms of the can- 
vas chair, she sat quite still, her mountainous body 
dressed in delicate finery. Through her flaxen head 
roved dreams one after another. It was as if she 
sailed a beautiful river and saw one wonderful farm 
after another, with houses all white and slate roofs 
and gilded lightning rods and cattle lolling in the 
shade of red barns. Anton would like a farm in this 
country. He said so. She felt the money in her 
grouch bag. 

The dream intoxicated her. 


[1351 


Circus Parade 


Then a voice said, “Hello, Lila, you sleepin’ ?”’ 

“Oh no, Anton. I was chust dreamin’. Come on 
in an’ siddown. Here—over here—dot’s fine.” 

Anton smiled confidently while Lila wiped her 
forehead with an insufficient square of lace. 

“My ain’t it warm tonight?” she asked. 

“It sure is,” replied Anton while actually won- 
dering why she had no oil heater in her tent. 

He moved closer to her. “Lila, you do like me, 
don’t you—you like me a lot, don’t you, dear— 
you're my real friend, hain’t you, dear?” 

She rubbed her heavy hands together. 

“Oh more so than a friend do I like you, Anton 
—much more so than a friend—much more so— 
I wonder kin you know how much more so, Anton.”’ 

“Yes, I know. That’s fine, dear,” returned Anton, 
looking about at the tent’s tawdry disarray. 

“You know the season’s closing soon, don’t you, 
Lila?” 

“Dot’s right,” assented Lila, moving closer to 
Anton. 

“Well you see, Lila—I’m broke—and I won- 


393 


dere 

“Oh never mind dot, Anton. I’m so much more 
than a friend, never don’t mind dot. I have got 
plenty for both.” , 


[136] 


The Strong Woman 


“That’s fine of you, Lila—you’re a peach—you’ll 
make a wonderful wife. You sure got it on Marie 
five ways from Sunday. I’m offa her the more I see 
of you, little one.” A pause. 

“You know, Lila,” he resumed, “I get tired of 
the show business, as I told you before. I’d like to 
settle down, wouldn’t you? I gotta letter today 
from a buddy. He’s got the finest little piece of land 
with a lake on it.” 

“Yah, yahh. Go on, go on,” said Lila. 

“Well a fellow could get it for three thousand, 

and he could raise everything on it. Why they say 
the wild geese come there by the thousands. And 
you can sell ’em for a dollar apiece. 
_ “Tt’s a trick lake, Lila. The geese light on it in 
the winter and it freezes over every night. Then all 
you have to do is to wait till morning and go out 
in a boat and load it with geese. You can catch 
forty thousand geese every winter that way. He 
told me about it because he’s got a gold mine near 
Pittsburgh and ain’t got time to work the farm any 
more. Says he’s tired of draggin’ geese offen the 
lake.” 

“Is dot so? How good dot is,” smiled Lila. 

“Tl say it’s good, Lila. The house is on a big 
hill an’ you can see through the trees for miles and 


[1371] 


Circus Parade 


miles. Gosh, I never had such a good time. I sure 


wish I could buy the place, but then I ain’t got no - 


money. You know I got hurt last year. Making the 
last mount, my foot slipped offa Benito’s shoulder 
an’ I spilled—cracked three ribs. It’s kep’ me broke 
ever since.” 

“Why you poor boy,” said Lila, “poor boy. And 
yust to think you must work now.” She stroked his 
hair. ““Why diden’ you ask for more money ?” 

“Well it is pretty tough, Lila, but, you know, I’m 
all man I am. I never whimper. I got an old mother 
an’ I’m good to her. She always says to me, she says, 
‘A boy who’ll be good to his old mother’ll be good 
to any other woman,’ an’ I always pet her an’ say, 
‘Shut up, ma, you old jollier.’ Course away down 
deep I admire women. If it wasn’t for women, how'd 
any of us get here?” | 

There never was such a light in Lila’s eyes be- 
fore. 

“You good, good boy,” she said, holding his head 
against her ample bosom, large enough for the 
miseries of the world. “Such a good boy—an’ dot 
little lake dat the geese come to—poor geese. We'll 
let your mudder stay wit’ us too. An’ we won’t hurt 
the geese.” 

“You know, Lila, I’m learnin’ to think a lot o’ 


[138] 


— 
pleat, 


ae ee 
bas — tS 


The Strong Woman 


you. You’re a mighty fine woman. You got a heart 
in you bigger’n all outdoors. J ain’t never seen a 
woman like you, IJ ain’t.” 

Anton laid his arm on her immense shoulder. Her 
eyes closed. Little lines of joy ran around them. 

“Oh, I am so happy,” she exclaimed, holding An- 
ton to her as gentle as a mother holds a babe. 

“T just knew—I just knew. I been a good girl 
all the time, Anton. Some man I knew would care 
for good girl. Oh, Anton, how good, how nice, how 
sweet you are.” She sobbed, her tremendous bosom 
moving. 

“But, Lila, any man must care for you. How cap- 
able you are and how strong.” 

- “Qh, Anton, I do be strong, but you don’t know 
how hard it be before you come. So lonesome, all 
the time J sit an’ read an’ want my man too, an’ 
my little house an’ my lake an’ my geese an’ odder 
tings like odder women. An’ here all time I leeft 
men an’ cows an’ tings. Oh, I’m so hapee, so hapee.”’ 
She clapped her hands together. Anton jumped at 
the noise. 

“T leeft sometimes an’ my shoulders they hurt, an’ 
nobody t’inks dot I ever be seeck. But oh, Anton, I 
do be sometime so seeck, I cannot see all du people 
who gawk at me a liftin’ farmers.” 


[139] 


Circus Parade 


“That’s a tough life, dearie, but you know it 
won’t last forever. There’s happier days ahead 
now.” He put his arms partly about her. “Wonder- 
ful woman,” he crooned, “just like a little girl.” 
There was a joyful pause for Lila. 

“Can you cook, girlie?’ asked Anton. 

“Oh yes, yes, Anton, I can cook everyt’ing an’ 
can make lager be-er unt schmearkase—unt— 


33 


unt 

“Well, well that'll be fine. Pll tell you, Lila, 
what do you say we buy that little farm I told you 
about? I can wire my friend fifteen hundred if you 
say so. Then we can get married the last day of the 
circus here. And by that time my friend’ll have 
everything fixed for us, and we can go right there. 
It ain’t far to New York State from here. It’s only 
eleven now, an’ I can git down and wire the money 
before twelve.” 

“Oh dot’ll be fine, Anton. Here, I give two thou- 
sand to you.” She took her grouch bage from her 
neck and handed the money to him. “‘Blessy boy, so 
good, so kind, so much more’n a friend. I love you 
—so much—much more. You breeng me happee- 
ness. 

Anton’s hands shook as he took the twenty hun- 
dred dollar bills. 


[140] 


The Strong Woman 


“Don’t shake, Anton Boy, ?’m happier’n you,” 
Lila said as she rose and walked with him to the 
tent door. 

“T1l be back in an hour. It may take a little 
longer, but don’t worry, girlie, I'll be here sure.” 
Anton smiled as he kissed her cheek. 

She was too happy to read for the next hour. . . . 


*K > *K 


In three mornings they found her in crumpled 
finery. A little blue bottle was clenched in her right 
hand. Many paper-backed novels were piled near 
her trunk. It was packed as 1f for a long journey. 


[141] 


IX: “With Folded Hands For- 


ever” 


IX: “With Folded Hands For- 


ever” 


HE Strong Woman’s death had a gloomy ef- 

fect upon me. Slug Finnerty and Cameron 

had discovered her. A mark was seen on her throat, 

as though the string which held her grouch bag had 

been torn from it. Money, jewelry, finery, every- 

thing of possible value had disappeared. We al- 

ways felt that Cameron and Finnerty had robbed 
her. 

“They’d of skinned her if they could, the measly 
crooks!”’ sneered Jock. ‘Talk about fallin’ among 
thieves.” 

The coroner was called, and signed the death cer- 
tificate. There was no money with which to bury 
her. 

“It’s a lucky shot for me,” said Silver Moon 
Dugan, “I owed her fifty bucks J won’t have to 
pay. She was a funny dame.” 

The Moss-Haired Girl said to me after the cor- 
oner had gone, “It sure is awful to die in Arkansas 
with this circus, but then she’s just as well off. She 


[145] 


Circus Parade 


was just in wrong, that’s all.” She walked with me 
to where the Baby Buzzard sat in front of the mu- 
sicians’ tent. 

“Well, she’s gone,” said the Baby Buzzard as 
we approached. 

“Yes,” was Alice’s answer. 

“It’s a hard loss for Bob. She drew a lot of 
money each week.” 

“Yes, it’s too bad for Bob. Poor Bob, he does 
have the hardest time,” smiled Alice. 

“Yes indeed he do,”’ responded the Baby Buz- 
zard, missing the Moss-Haired Girl’s tone of mock- 
ery. 

“But she has to be buried, you know,” continued 
the Moss-Haired Girl. ““There’s too much of her to 
keep above ground. We’d better take up a collection 
for her. I’l] start it with twenty dollars.” Just then 
Cameron appeared. “What will you give?’ Alice 
asked him. 

“Well, I think five dollars each among twenty of 
us will be enough. After all, we can’t get a coffin 
big enough in the town, and it don’t matter any- 
how. I’ve got two of the boys makin’ a big box and 
linin’ it wit’ canvas. The coffins fall apart after 
three days in the grave anyhow. Them undertakers 


[146] 


“With Folded Hands Forever’’ 


are the original highway robbers.” And Cameron 
fingered his Elk tooth charm. 

The Baby Buzzard disappeared and returned with 
her glassful of half dollars. She counted ten of the 
coins and handed them to Alice, who turned them 
over to Cameron. 

“These’ll pay her way through purgatory, or 
start her soul rollin’. That’s more’n she’d do for 
me if I croaked. People ’at croak ’emselves should 
bury ’emselves. Them’s my ways of lookin’ at it. I 
ain’t never seen a man yet I’d bump myself off for. 
You can’t do ’em no good when you're dead,” half 
soliloquized the Baby Buzzard. 

“May be not,” returned the Moss-Haired Girl, 
looking from Cameron to the Baby Buzzard, “but 
we can at least shut our mouths and let her rest in 
peace. Somebody’s stole everything she had. Even 
her silk underwear’s gone. And who in the dickens 
with this circus can wear that?’ 

“Maybe Goosey stole it to put on the elephants,” 
sneered the old lady. 

“Maybe so, but the elephants wouldn’t wear it 
if they knew it was stolen. They’re above that.” 

“Well, well,” and Cameron now became reverent, 
“it’s all beyond our power.’ He pointed heaven- 


[147] 


Circus Parade 


ward. “He who is above us has called her home.” 

“He may have called her, but He didn’t send her 
carfare. He probably thought she could bum her 
way,’ dryly commented the Baby Buzzard. 

“That is not for us to judge,” replied Cameron 
solemnly, “for who are we to question the Great 
Taskmaster’s laws? It is best that we bury her be- 
fore parade so as not to disturb the even tenor of 
our ways. I will say a few words and have the band 
play and sing a few songs. And then we shall take 
her to the graveyard in one of the elephant’s cages. 
Buddy Conroy is there now makin’ arrangements. 
The wagon with the cage can follow along with the 
parade, and no one will be the wiser.”’ 

The Strong Woman was placed in a square pine 
canvas-covered box with her blonde head resting on 
a huge red pillow trimmed in green. Her heavy hands 
were folded. Her mouth was puckered in a half 
smile which helped to conceal the cyanide scar at 
the edge of her lower lip. Her head was buried in 
the pillow. Her large breasts rose high above every- 
thing. 

Fourteen men lifted the box. 

Cameron’s showman instinct prevailed at the last. 
The calliope was called into service. A man stood 
upon its platform and played as weird a tune as was 


[148] 


“With Folded Hands Forever” 


ever concocted by the most fantastic human brain. 

It seemed to my boyish mind to have been blended 
with wild wails and screeching laughter. It was fol- 
lowed by: 


I had a dream the other night, 
Floating on the River of Sin, 

I peeped inside of Jordan bright, 
Floating on the River of Sin, 

And another place I seen inside, 
Floating on the River of Sin. 

A place where the devil does reside, 
Floating on the River of Sin. 


Freaks and thieves, trailers and clown acrobats 
and stake-drivers gathered in front of the Strong 
Woman’s tent. 

“Come on now, men, we’ll make it snappy,” said 
Slug Finnerty. “Join in the song with the calliope.” 

He waved his hands. 


I seen a band of spirits bright, 
Floating on the River of Stn, 
Holding church by candle light, 
Floating on the River of Sin. 
A great big chariot passing by, 
[149] 


Circus Parade 


Floating on the River of Sin, 
Come so close they had to fly, 
Floating on the River of Sin. 


The crude heavy voices were drowned out by the 
wail of the calliope. 


They drove the chariot down below, 

A spirit fell down and hurt his toe, 

Floating on the River of Sin. 

Then singin’ and shoutin’ way out loud, 
Floating on the River of Sin. 

They took her to heaven in a great big cloud, 
Floating on the River of Sin. 


When the song had died away Silver Moon Du- 
gan, the Boss canvasman, commented. 

““Gee, if she ever falls outta heaven there'll be a 
splash.” A few roustabouts laughed. Then Cameron 
stood before us on a pine box. 

“Fellow travelers with Cameron’s World’s Great- 
est Combined Shows,” he began, and paused—“it 
is my sad duty to say a few words here. I wish it 
understood that I come to bury Cesar, not to praise 
her. She is beyond us now, stripped of everything 
before God, who takes care of the weary and the 


[150] 


“With Folded Hands Forever” 


worn and calls the wandering lady here home. 

“We talk of worldly splendor, yet Solomon in 
all his gorgeous glory was not arrayed as one of 
these. She who now lies here before us once held our 
little world in awe. Now none of us are too procras- 
tinatin’ an’ poor to show our irreverence, and she 
recks not at all of it. It is not ours to judge, for we 
are ever in the Great Taskmaster’s eye, and if he 
should ever blink it ever so slightly we would crum- 
ble like the atomic mountains that rise outta the 
sea. 

“Ours is but a little stay here, full of sound and 
fury, and, if you will pardon the blasphemy, signi- 
fying not a hell of a lot. 

“It all reminds me of that well-known poem made 
immortal by Browning, than whom there was no 
more profound student of the human heart: 


There 7s so much good in the best of us, 
And so much bad in the rest of us, 
That it little behooves the best of us 

To talk about the rest of us. 


“Those lines to me have always been a welcoming 
tocsin. When tired, when weary with the troubles 
of Cameron’s World’s Greatest Combined Shows, I 


[151] 


Circus Parade 


often retire to my humble car and solicitate upon 
them. Feeling the full majesty of them, I have 
naught but love and understanding for those mem- 
bers of my circus who would fain be ungrateful. 

“For are we not the same that our fathers have 
been? Do we not see the same sights and view the 
same sun and run in the same blood where our fa- 
thers have run? 

““A great object-lesson can be received from this. 
As I have said in preceding, we are ever in our 
Great Taskmaster’s eye. He who rolls the mountains 
is watching over us. 

“God is ever on the side of justice, or as Gen- 
eral Robert E. Lee so well said, God marches at the 
head of the heaviest battalions; and those battalions 
are imposed of justice and mercy and undying 
truth.” 

Cameron took a large red and white kerchief 
from his pocket. He unfolded it deliberately, then 
wiped his forehead and eyes, cleared his throat and 
resumed: 

“We have labored in the vineyard with our sleep- 
ing friend here—and that reminds me that she is not 
dead, but sleepeth.”” Cameron looked at his audience 
as one will who feels he has uttered a profound 
truth. He wiped his eyes again. When he removed 


[152] 


“With Folded Hands Forever’’ 


the kerchief they suddenly filled with tears. His 
whole manner changed. “Oh it stabs my heart, this 
etief before me. He who has loved and has run 
away may live to love some other day. But what 
about the victim of this dastardly attempt at liason? 
I adjure you . . .” His frame shook, his kerchief 
rubbed wet eyes. The audience looked bored with 
piety. Cameron’s right hand, holding the kerchief, 
rose high in the air. He stood on tiptoe. “But 
friends, do not despair. In that vast circus ground 
in the other world we shall meet the lady who lies 
here with folded hands forever.” 

The crowd dispersed. The Strong Woman was 
placed in the elephant cage while the calliope 
played: 


Room enough, room enough, 
Room enough in heaven for us all— 
Oh don’t stay away. 


It then shifted: 


At the cross, at the cross, 
Where I first saw light, 
And the burden of my heart rolled away, 
Rolled away— 
[153] 


Circus: Parade 


It was there by faith 
I received my sight, Pa 
And now I am happy all the day — 
All the day. 6 


? 


ardueds 


X: Tiger and Lion Fight 


X: Tiger and Lion Fight 


S the season became older the hatred toward 
Cameron grew sharper. Men of every descrip- 
tion had come and gone since I had joined the cir- 
cus in Louisiana. My salary was increased to seven 
dollars a week and board. I earned about the same 
amount running errands for the Baby Buzzard, the 
Moss-Haired Girl, and Finnerty and Jack. The 
Baby Buzzard gave me four half-dollars each week. 
For many days I thought of the Strong Woman. 
I linked her up with the Lion Tamer and recalled 
the expression I often saw on her face as he passed 
her on the lot walking, graceful like a panther. 
Death again haunted me as in my childhood. These 
two—one buried in Louisiana, the other in Arkan- 
sas—did they know what we were doing? I won- 
dered who jerked the Strong Woman’s grouch bag 
from about her throat, and if Anton would ever hear 
of her death. 
The old trailer, who had written the verses when 
the Lion Tamer died, was no longer with us. He had 
refused to follow the circus through Arkansas. We 


[1571 


Circus Parade 


had played three days in Little Rock. I last saw him 
in a saloon near the Iron Mountain railroad. He had 
been drunk three days and was just trying to sober 
up. Jock and I had stepped in for a drink. He sat, 
looking disconsolate, with his elbows on a beer- 
stained table. 

As we walked over to him, he said, ““Won’t you 
buy me a drink, boys? My nerves are all gone, my 
head aches awful an’ my mouth feels like a Chinese 
family’s just moved out.” 

The words pleased Jock and he laughed heartily. 
Loungers in the saloon turned to look at us. 

“You old reprobate, that’s worth a half pint.” 
Jock placed the coin on the bar. The bartender held 
a bottle and asked sharply, ““What do you want, rye 
or bourbon?” 

“T don’t give a damn,” the old man answered im- 
patiently, grabbing at the bottle, removing the cork » 
and placing it to his mouth. We watched the old 
man drink it like water. Jock gave him a quarter 
with, “‘Ain’t you trailin’ us any more?” 

“Not no more, no siree. I don’t trail no circus in 
Arkansas. The God damn rubes down there ain’t be- 
gun to be civilized. Whenever I hit Little Rock I 
jist turn round and go back no matter where I’m 
headin’.”’ 


[158] 


Tiger and Lion Fight 


As we left, the old trailer handed us each a poem 
printed on yellow paper. 

“Tt’s a little thing I wrote the other day. I like it 
too. It’s all about booze.” 

Jock crunched the paper in his hand. I looked at 
my copy as we walked toward the circus lot. 

It was Edgar Allan Poe’s “Raven.” The first line 
had been changed from 


Once upon a midnight dreary 


to 


One summer morning bright and cheery, 
While I pondered weak and weary... 


>) 


The poem was called “A Drunkard’s Fate,” and 
was signed by the old trailer. 

We encountered a rainy week in the heart of Ar- 
kansas. Our nerves, for the most part, worn thread- 
bare from long contact with one another, now grew 
more taut as one dreary day followed another down 
the wet road of time. Even the animals became 
moody and sulky. Jock, full of morphine, swore ter- 
ribly at the horses, until his “habit” had worn off. 

As our bunks were full of vermin, or “‘crummy”’ 
in the vernacular of the circus, we slept in the circus 


[159] 


Circus Parade 


wagons and other places on warm nights. Now that 
the air was chilled with rain we were forced to 
our vermin-infested bunks. My own fortunes were 
to change later when Whiteface became a clown. He 
was allowed a little tent to himself. I shared it with 
him. | 

Mike Anderson, who had succeeded Denna Wy- 
oming as lion tamer, took us one day in a body be- 
fore Cameron. He met us Ba even benignantly, 
with, “Well, boys.” 

“We're tired of floppin’ in the lousy bunks, Mr. 
Cameron,” Mike said suddenly. 

“Why men,” Cameron returned quickly, “this is 
surprising. Lice and rubes are part of a circus.” 

“Maybe so, but I don’t want either of ’em in my 
bunk,”’ sneered Anderson. 

Just then the Baby Buzzard approached. 

“I suppose you want me an’ the other women to 
clean ’em for you,” she snapped. 

“Naw we don’t. We want ’em all burned up an’ 
new ones put in.” 

The adroit Cameron soon placated the feelings 
of all his callers but Anderson. He stood sullenly by 
while Cameron said with soft voice, ““You know 
how it is, men, keeping a circus clean is a hard job.” 

“Ringlin’s do it,’ put in Anderson. 


[1607] 


Tiger and Lion Fight 


“But look at the many localities they have; they 
got everything convenient. Next year, if this rain 
stops, Pll have a much finer circus an’ it’]l be like 
a little home for all of us.” 

As we walked away Anderson confided to me, 
“Tomorrow’s pay-day. I think I'll blow the outfit.” 

The next day Cameron explained to all who 
would listen the hardships of a circus owner’s life, 
as he reluctantly paid us. 

Anderson was paid in full. He also borrowed 
twenty dollars from Cameron, who wished to keep 
him in good humor. Men who could handle animals 
of the cat tribe were scarce so late in the season. 

Cameron had offered Jock more wages to take 
charge of the “Big Cats” than he was receiving for 
taking care of the horses. Knowing always the con- 
dition of his nerves, he refused, 

Bad Bill had been separated from the other lions 
on account of the growing fierceness of his disposi- 
tion. Anderson had placed him in a cage next to 
Ben Royal, a Bengal tiger. 

I had often speculated on whether or not Ben 
Royal could whip Bad Bill. He was at least forty or 
fifty pounds lighter. I had remembered reading in a 
history of Rome, as a child, that five lions had al- 
ways been sent into the arena against four tigers. 


[161] 


Circus Parade 


That seemed proof to me that the tiger was the 


lion’s master. I had once talked about it to Denna ~ 


Wyoming. “Bad Bill,” said he, “can lick anything 
that walks or swims in the world.’ Anderson, then 
the chief assistant trainer laughed out loud when I 
told him about it. 

“Ben Royal kin tear Bill’s heart out in three min- 
utes,” was his comment. The idea of a fight between 
Bad Bill and Ben Royal afterward fascinated An- 
derson. He would often refer to it. And once, after 
I had talked to him about the ancient combats in 
Rome, ‘“That’d be a battle, huh! We oughta git old 
Cameron to stage one for us.” 

It was Bad Bill whom Denna Wyoming had 
feared most of all. Anderson had shared his fear. 
Jock also hated and feared him. Though he was not 
directly responsible for Denna’s death, both men 
distrusted him as Wyoming had done. Jock had 
often called Bad Bill a traitor. He seemed to hold 
it against him that Wyoming had once saved his life 
with huge mustard plasers. In some way he resented 
the fact that the dumb king of beasts was ungrate- 
ful. That day Anderson and Jock talked a long 
time. 

All night the rain fell drearily and, in spite of the 
parafin, soaked the tents. The next morning, before 


[1627] 


Tiger and Lion Fight 


breakfast, an alarm sounded over our canvas world. 
Anderson was nowhere to be found. The rope which 
held the partition which separated Ben Royal and 
Bad Bill had been cut. Many of us had heard a 
lion roar in the night but had paid no further at- 
tention. Bad Bill was found, his throat torn, his 
stomach ripped open, and part of his carcass eaten. 
Ben Royal, with bloody jaws, dozed near him. 

“Can you beat it?’ laughed Jock to me. “‘Ander- 
son sure as hell turned Ben loose on Bill. The son 
of a gun wanted to turn him loose on Cameron.” 

Cameron was grief-stricken. ““IT'wo thousand dol- 
lars gone to hell,’’ was his dismal moan for some 
days. 

The tiger was afterward billed as “Ben, the Lion 
Killer.” A stirring tale of his combat was written 
and placed on his cage. Anderson was never found 
again. 

“Anderson knew Ben ’ud kill Bill,’’ Goosey after- 
ward told me. “The lion has everything buftaloed 
but the tiger. When I was wit’ Wallace I seen a tiger 
kill two lions quicker’n you could say ‘have a drink.’ 

“The lions seen the tiger comin’ an’ roared loud 
as thunder but it gave a lunge wit’ its mouth wide 
_ open and caught the one lion right under the throat 
an’ before it got thru’ gurglin’ it copped the other 


[163] 


Circus Parade 
lion, They had to turn a big hose on him to git him 


outta the cage. He sure went snarlin’!” 

Goosey never tired of talking about animals. 

“T seen a half lion and half tiger once,” he told 
me. “But they coulden go no further wit’ it; they 
can’t have little ones; they either come straight 
lions or straight tigers the second time. 

“A tiger kin outjump a lion too. I seen ’em jump 
over sixty feet. All’s a lion kin do is *bout forty- 
five. But they don’t like to jump, it hurts their feet. 
They’re jist as careful as a housecat about their 
paws.” 

Goosey was placed in charge of the “big cats” 
until another trainer could be found. 

Cameron never forgot the twenty dollars he had 
advanced Anderson. He used it as an excuse when 
asked for money during the remainder of the season. 


[164] 


XI: A Day’s Vacation 


ee th) 


XI: A Day’s Vacation 


OR three more days it rained. Our very lives 

were soggy. The last town had been a bloomer. 

Not enough money had been taken in at the gate to 

pay expenses. Cameron was sad. And still it rained. 

We hoped, the derelicts of circus life, that by the 

grace of God and the winds of chance we would 
again see the sun. 

The performers were able to travel in some com- 
fort. But the canvasmen, hostlers and stake-drivers, 
_ were not so fortunate. We protected ourselves from 
the maddening rain by crawling under pieces of 
side-wall canvas atop the wagons. In spite of the 
rain, we tried to sleep. 

The cars lurched noisily from one tie to another 
through the rainy night. There were no clouds; just 
the raindrops stabbing through the heavy steel at- 
mosphere. 

Once in the pathos of disgust I started to sing, 
“T wish I was in Dixie, Hurray! Hurray?” 

“Shut up, you dog, or we'll lynch you for cruelty 


[167] 


Circus Parade 


to animals,” the jockey yelled above the creaking of 
the wagons. 

I hummed ‘‘Rock of Ages” and tried to doze again. — 

Still a boy, my heart beat lighter then. All life 
was a pageant where now it is a slow parade. 

But I did have one concern. Burrowed under the 
canvas not ten feet from me was an immense 
pounder of stakes in whose head several screws had 
suddenly loosened. It was shaped like a lead bullet 
that hit a granite wall. Over it was blonde clipped 
hair that looked like stubs of withered grass. 

His nose had been smashed to the left. Each eye- 
ball was permanently fixed in the left corner of his 
eye. He could not look to the right without turning 
half way round. But his appearance did not bother 
me. I had always been certain from the day he joined 
the show that he was an escaped lunatic, though it 
was too personal a question to discuss with him. 

I had no reverence, and the blonde giant was a 
religious fanatic. He talked loud and long about 
Sodom and Gomorrah, as though he felt I was an 
outlaw from those unhappy places. I had once inno- 
cently said to him, “I wonder who makes God’s rain- 
coats. You know he’s a big guy and I'll bet it takes 
all the canvas in a Barnum tent just to pad his 
shoulders. He should give a God damn about it 


[168] 


A Day’s Vacation 


rainin’ on us guys.” I had made the remark merely 
as a philosophical speculation, being very young. 
But the blonde gentleman was a Christian and be- 
came my mortal enemy. 

Some days before I had picked up a little dog, 
the majority of whose ancestors had been Fox ter- 
riers. He was all white, save for the end of his 
stubby tail, which was black. I met him on the circus 
lot. He was so joyful and carefree, and so glad to 
see me that I held him in my arms a long time. 

I called him Jeremiah. The daintiest of women 
have since tripped in and out of my life, but little 
stub-tailed Jeremiah remains my first remembered 
love. 

We trekked with the circus together with no sub- 
tleties, and no explanations, our hearts laid bare to 
one another. I was not a tramp circus kid to Jere- 
miah, but a traveling gentleman who loved dogs. 
I write this in explanation of my love for him. It 
has bulked large through the years. 

Jeremiah now slept under the canvas with me. 
The huge blonde man thought I was making fun of 
religion whenever I called to the dog. Just the day 
before he had kicked at Jeremiah, and missed him, 
I saw the act and tangled with the stake-driver. 
Jeremiah, in his haste to help me, started to bite, 


[169] 


Circus Parade 


but the little rascal got the wrong leg. Silver Moon 
Dugan pulled me away from the big blonde. 

I could now hear the man moving uneasily under 
the canvas. I had, like many others, tried to sleep 
in the bunks. The vermin had routed us all. Now it 
was anywhere out of the wet. 

I would doze fitfully, alert for defense if the 
blonde should want to rid a sinful world of my pres- 
ence. Jeremiah seemed to sense my uneasiness, and 
kept burying his nose under my armpit. 

In this manner we jolted on through the rain- 
drenched night. 

We reached a muddy suburb of Atlanta with early 
dawn. When we unloaded the circus, Jock was com- 
pelled to go into Atlanta for more horses to pull us. 

Roxie, the best elephant with the show, had worn 
her forehead raw, pushing out wagons bogged in the 
mud. Jumpy had made a pad for it out of an old 
army blanket and a quilt. The heavy poultices 
dripped with water which ran down her trunk. She 
was in an evil mood. She clomped through the mud 
swinging her trunk madly. 

After much trouble we were on our way to the 
circus grounds. A wind came up and sizzed through 
the rain. Lanterns hung on each wagon. The wind 
made them bob up and down as if they floated on 


[170] 


A Day’s Vacation 


water. Lanterns were also attached to the neck yoke 
of the lead horses. From the distance we must have 
resembled an immense glowworm crawling through 
space. 

Jock worked horses and men with driving energy. 
An eight-horse team traveled up and down by the 
side of the road, with a heavy snake chain dragging 
behind. This was used in pulling wagons out of the 
mud. 

We reached Atlanta at daylight. Within an hour 
the sun shone over the city. It pierced red through 
the hazy weather. 

On our way to the circus grounds I noticed that 
the Southern Carnival Company was in Atlanta. 

The blonde stake-driver threw a spasm in the 
cook tent. His hands and knees went together, his 
eyes stared more rigidly to the left, he Jumped high 
in the air, and fell on the ground as stiff as an iron 
bar. 

We laid him out on a water-soaked bunk. 

Silver Moon Dugan, the boss canvasman, mum- 
bled, “A hell of a time to throw a fit, jist when the 
tent’s goin’ up.” He was short of men as usual. I 
helped put up the tent. 

With the hope of breaking the monotony by at- 
tending the carnival, I asked Jock if I might not 


[1948 


Circus Parade 


play sick that day and join him after the night per- 
formance. | 

He said, “Sure, go ahead. It’s too wet to parade 
anyhow. I'l] fix it up.” | 

Jock gave me a silver dollar. I took Jeremiah with 
me. 

We walked slowly along until we came to a small 
butcher shop where I bought some meat for the dog. 
I was glad to be away from the blonde man, and 
Jeremiah would look up at me as if he were trying 
to express the same emotion. With no immediate 
worry save that of obtaining food, I loitered about 
Atlanta with Jeremiah until mid-afternoon. 

My mind was on the Southern Carnival Company. 
All such aggregations worked a shell game through 
the South. I had learned many things from Slug 
Finnerty’s crew. Accordingly I sauntered through 
one alley after another with Jeremiah in the hope 
of finding rubber out of which to fashion a pea. 

After a long search I came upon an old-fashioned 
clothes-wringer. As no one was about I soon removed 
one of the rubber rollers and carved a chunk from it. 
After much shaping and polishing I made it resem- 
ble a pea turned dark from handling. When finished, 
I threw the rest of the roller on the ground. Jeremiah 
immediately picked it up and started carrying it 


[172] 


A Day’s Vacation 


with him. I bade him drop the possible circumstan- 
tial evidence and inquired my way toward the car- 
nival. 

Everything was in full blast when I arrived with 
Jeremiah and hunted up the shell game. A crowd 
had gathered. 

I was attracted by the man who ran it. He stood 
perspiring under the hot sun. I leaned down and 
talked to Jeremiah, pointing to the ground at my 
feet, with the hope of making him understand I 
wanted him to stay close to me. He remained so 
close that I could touch him with my foot at any 
time. The operator of the shell game was jubilant. 

“Here you are, folks. If you guess right, you win. 
That’s all life is, folks, just a guess, folks—a ques- 
tion of guessing right. Three simple shells—under 
which shell is the pea, folks?” he kept saying as he 
rubbed his hands together. 

He was shaved close. His jaw was steely blue 
with a streak of red across it, as if a razor had made 
a furrow that healed over, leaving a dent in the 
middle. The scar seemed to open and close as he 
talked, as though contradicting what his lips were 
saying. I looked about to spot the shillabers, his ac- 
complices. There were several within a dozen feet of 
him. 


[1731] 


Circus Parade 


All about them were vari-colored rustics. The 
whites were burned red by the sun and the blacks 
could no blacker be. The latter were dressed in fan- 
tastic colors, like barbaric children from another 
world. | 
Assuming as much innocence as possible, I looked 
about in a scared manner. I needed someone to fur- 
nish the money. A young Negro stood close to me. 
The eyes of a born gambler danced in his head. Sud- 
denly I heard the man with the scar across his jaw 
talk out of the corner of his mouth to a shillaber 
standing behind me, “Ushpay the pumchay oser- 
clay.’”’ People in a canvas and semi-gypsy world have 
a language of their own. They shift a word about 
and always put “ay” at the end of it. In this man- 
ner they can carry on a conversation that no one 
else can understand. The sentence translated was 
“Push the chump up closer.”” There was a sudden 
movement from behind. I looked more scared than 
ever, as I talked to the young Negro near me. 

Being shoved closer, I looked at the swiftly mov- 
ing hands of the man with the scar on his jaw. They 
were long and well kept, except for the nail on the 
little finger of his right hand. It extended about half 
an inch. 

His shirt sleeves were rolled above his black al- 


[174] 


A Day’s Vacation 


paca coat. Money of all denominations lay near his 
left hand. He handled it with indifference. “Just a 
mere guess, folks, a mere guess, that’s all.’ He 
looked at me benevolently. I leaned down and 
patted Jeremiah who huddled between my legs for 
protection. 

“You merely guess, folks, under which of the 
three shells the little black pea is hidden. If you 
guess right, I pay. Nothing intricate at all.” 

I watched him closely. He pretended to hide the 
pea awkwardly. Sometimes it even held up one side 
of the shell under which it was supposed to be hid- 
den. He would give the shell a little push as if he 
had just discovered his error. 

The play was slow at first. The operator offered 
ten to five, then twenty to a hundred and so on, al- 
ternating, “Come, gentlemen, locate the pea,” he 
would say as he counted out the money. “Two dol- 
lars to one. But why not win more? Your money 
never grows in your pants pockets.” 

A large Negro laid down five dollars. His smile 
was forced and the look in his eye was too quick. I 
knew he was a shillaber. He turned a shell. The 
pea was not under it. 

“Even money on the other two shells,”’ declared 
the man. “T’ll try it once for five,’ 


b 


volunteered a 


[175] 


Circus Parade 


young white shillaber who were a derby. He laid 
the five dollar bill down and flipped a shell over. 
There lay the pea. The man with the scar laughed as 
he paid out ten dollars. 

“That’s the way it goes, gentlemen. Lay down 
five and pick up ten. One man’s loss is another man’s 
gain. Try it once more there, colored boy,” to the 
first player. He shifted the shells and the pea. 

“Tl try it once moah if you all let my frien’ heah 
pick it foh me,” he suggested, at the same time push- 
ing a chocolate-colored brother in front of him. 

“I don’t care who picks it, gentlemen, as long as 
you gamble fair and square,” said the man. 

The big colored fellow laid down another five 
dollar bill and turned to the other. “You go on an’ 
pick it foh me. You looks lucky to me, boy.” The 
latter grinned proudly and looked closely at the 
shells. 

Several other Negroes told their comrade which 
shell the pea was under. The operator seemed en- 
grossed in other matters as the Negro raised the 
shell and disclosed the pea. He then counted out the 
winnings and began to hand them to the little choco- 
late-colored man. The big Negro pointed out the 
operator’s mistake and claimed the money. 


[176] 


A Day’s Vacation 


“My mistake, gentleman, my mistake,” laughed 
the operator. 

The big Negro said, ‘But you’d all of paid him he 
won, huh ?” 

“Certainly, gentlemen, certainly, whoever wins. 
It’s merely the love of the play that keeps me here. 
I enjoy it as much as you, folks. I could easily, gen- 
tlemen, follow any other calling, but here is my life 
work, gentlemen, just the joy of taking a chance. A 
gambler at heart, gentlemen, a square shooter, a fair 
deal, gentlemen, and no favors. I paid one man five 
hundred last week. The turn of a shell, gentlemen, 
the turn of a simple shell, and a fortune underneath. 
The wealth of Minus, gentlemen, the wealth of 
Minus.” He looked down at me. “If any other gen- 
tlemen had put their money down they would have 
won also.” 

The big colored shillaber began talking to the 
little man who had chosen for him. “Come, boy, you 
is lucky. V’1l put five dollahs down and you puts 
five dollahs, then we both win. Come on, you otheh 
colohed boys.” Several of them watched the studied 
clumsiness of the operator and pulled money out of 
purses with twist clasps—money earned under a 
burning sun. 


[1771] 


Circus Parade 


All the Negroes won, and doubled their bets. They 
won again and tripled. Then all lost. 

I watched the operator’s long fingernail sweep un- 
der the shell with the action of a scythe. 

The colored youth next to me stood fascinated. 
He smiled confidently at me and I saw my chance. 

“Listen, kid,” I whispered to him, “I can beat that 
game. If you’ll let me have ten to play, I'll get you 
twenty back. I know the riffle. We'll make a getaway 
and Ill meet you at the Salvation Army Hotel on 
Peachtree Street.” 

The big colored shillaber stood within five feet of 
us, so I whispered even lower. “Now if I play and — 
win and yell, ‘Go,’ you’ve got to run like the devil 
away from Holy Water. Hear me?’ The little 
Negro nodded, still smiling. The operator was say- 
ing, “As wealthy as Minus, gentlemen, as wealthy as 
Minus. Rockyfeller took a chance, everybody does. 
Which of the simple little shells is the pea under, 
gentlemen?” 

A shillaber moved closer and placed ten dollars 
on the board. Then as luck would have it, he turned 
to the colored lad near me. “‘You pick it out for me 
this time, boy.”’ The little fellow picked the middle 
shell—and—there was the pea. 

He smiled more confidently at me. 


[178] 


A Day’s Vacation 


Another shillaber edged closer in friendly con- 
versation with a sun-tanned yokel. ‘“We’ll show you 
where we’re from. We'll pick out the right shell so 
often you'll think there’s a pea under every darn 
one o’ them,” laughed the shillaber. The yokel laid 
down five dollars. The shillaber likewise. They won 
twice, then lost. The yokel had not hesitated, but he 
lost anyhow. 

Another shillaber, with an Italian who looked like 
like a peddler, had some difficulty in getting close 
to the board. The operator said quietly—‘Etlay 
ethay ogaday uckerslay up otay ethay cardbay.” 
(“Let the dago sucker up to the board.’”’) The way 
cleared for him at once. 

I coaxed the young Negro to take a chance with 
me. At last he could stand the contagion of the play 
no longer. ““Heah, white boy, you beats it if you 
all kin,” he said, slipping me a ten dollar bill. 

I touched Jeremiah with my foot, and pushed 
closer to the board, the Negro close to me. 

“Tl bet ten, Mister, if you'll let me pick up the 
shell,” I said innocently. 

“Certainly, my boy, certainly, most assuredly. 
It merely saves me the labor of raising a simple 
shell. A straight and fair game, gentlemen, and you 
can raise any shell you wish. Merely a game of wits 


[179] 


Circus Parade 


—guess work. He who guesses the best always wins 
in this and other games of life.” 

The Italian played ahead of me, also the sun- 
tanned yokel and others. Their bets ranged from one 
to ten dollars. Money went back and forth, the 
operator and his shillabers working fast. The shil- 
labers asked questions, the operator talked swiftly 
and moved his hands nee thus keeping up the 
tension of the play. | 

He suddenly beamed at me. “If you still wish to 
pick your own shell up, my lad, that privilege is 
yours. You look like a brave gambler to me. You 
love the game as I do, So it’s as you will, my boy, 
as you will. I believe in giving the young a chance. 
I was young once myself away back yonder,” he 
chortled, placing a ten dollar bill between the first 
and second finger. 

I laid the Negro’s money on the board. The oper- 
ator placed it between his fingers. 

“The left shell,” I said and raised it, handing him 
the pea I had carved in the alley. ‘‘Here it is, Mister. 
I win.” 

The operator looked startled. The scar on his face 
turned redder. His own pea was lodged in his long 
finger nail. Before he recovered I took the money 


[180] 


A Day’s Vacation 


from between his fingers and dodged low and was 
gone. Jeremiah was well ahead of me. 

Looking back I saw the shillaber with the derby 
hat make a grab for my colored friend. I was soon 
lost in the crowd. 

I hurried off the lot, the two ten-dollar bills in my 
hand. Realizing after some distance that no one was 
pursuing me, I thought of the tough spot in which 
I had left the lad who had loaned me the ten dol- 
lars. 

“Oh well,” I said to myself, “they can’t do any- 
thing with him—maybe beat him up a little, that’s 
all.” 

Then the thought came that they might do any- 
thing with a Negro in Atlanta. 

So thinking I reached the Salvation Army Hotel 
on Peachtree Street. 

Sitting in a pine chair was my colored friend. 

“What all took you so long?” he asked, as I 
handed him a ten dollar bill. 

His eyes went as big as eggs. 

“Ge-mun-ently—this all I git?” he asked. 

“Sure Boy, look at all the fun you had. You're 
lucky to get your ten back. I took all the chances. 
Suppose I hadn’t showed up at all.” 


[181] 


Circus Parade 


“Gee, that’s right,” he said as I left with Jere- 
miah. 

Jock smiled happily when I told him of the inci- 
dent that night. 


[182] 


XII: Whiteface 


XII: Whiteface 


ITHIN three weeks Cameron’s World’s 
Greatest Combined Shows were so badly 
crippled on account of many desertions that the 
tents were raised in each town with great difficulty. 
It is the custom with the wanderers of circus life 
to leave without notice, and often without money. 
Routes of other circuses are studied carefully in the- 
atrical papers, so that many “jump the show” and 
join one in the same vicinity. They will often travel 
many hundreds of miles until they come to another 
circus appearing in the same city. 

Barnum and Bailey’s show was pitched for two 
days in Forth Worth, Texas, when we arrived. Four 
clowns, three musicians and one freak deserted in 
a body. 

Whiteface was made a professional clown by ac- 
cident. 

Somewhere his ancestors must have made forgot- 
ten kings to laugh. He had been a stake-driver a 
short time before. There was a vast difference in 


[1857] 


Circus Parade 


swinging an eight-pound sledge and being a kinker. 
For the kinkers are the performers, the aristocrats 
of the circus world. 

He was a natural clown. People laughed at every- 
thing he did. Where he came from no one knew. His 
features were aquiline. There were traces of Ethi- 
opian, Caucasian and Indian in him. But in the 
South he was just another Negro. 

There was an eagle-like expression about his 
mouth and nose. In his eyes was the meek look of 
a dove. His teeth were as even as little old-fashioned 
tombstones in a row. He gave one the impression 
of power gone to seed, of a ruined cannon rusting in 
the sun, or a condor with broken wings. 

He was one of those people in the subterranean 
valley who somehow managed to grow and give 
something to a world that had no thought of him. 
Under the make-up of a clown his sombre expres- 
sion left him. He pushed his magnificent yellow 
body around the ring in a tawdry fool’s-parade. He 
did not walk, he shambled. Over his yellow face was 
the white paint of the clown. He was, in the lan- 
guage of the circus, a whiteface. 

His start had not been conspicuous. Four clowns 
had deserted. Something had happened to another 
[186] 


Whiteface 


performer. Whiteface had been helping tear down 
some aerial rigging, and to save a delay he had been 
asked to do a dance. All the kinkers or performers 
smiled as he consented. The audience would laugh 
at his attempt at dancing, and the aim was to some- 
how make the audience laugh. 

Then something happened. The huge Negro, with 
the flat coarse shoes lined with brass in front, am- 
bled on the platform like a man with no bones in his 
legs. He resembled an immense dummy held up with 
wire and allowed to sag in the middle. He looked 
about him helplessly. And then suddenly listened, 
as though for a firing-squad. Then held out his long 
left arm as if wanting to say a last word with the 
gunners. It was a stroke of uncouth genius. The ter- 
tific effect of it stunned even the ringmaster. There 
was that tremendous silence one feels only before 
an execution. Then the great heavy feet began to 
move. 

They patted the wooden stage with the noise of 
a giant’s hands being clapped together. The bone- 
less body moved as if dancing to the roar of the ele- 
ments. Then suddenly it stopped. He held out his 
hand for a second as before and ambled from the 
stage with the same tempo he had used in closing 


[187] 


Circus Parade 


the dance. The applause went around the tent in 
mighty waves. He was forced back on the platform 
again. 

There was a heavy silence. The heavy feet shook 
for a second and a heavier wave of appreciation 
rolled around the tent. Then the immense hand 
went out like a yellow talon outspread. It had the 
effect of a firing-squad again. In another second he 
had ambled from the platform. 

Immediately he was prevailed upon to become a 
clown. He took the job with the same unconcern that 
he had taken that of stake-driving. He assembled 
his regalia and rehearsed by himself. He would in- 
flict none of his three colors on the pure white strain 
of his brother clowns. But in justice to them, they 
were nearly all artists at heart and drew no color 
line. 

Sufficient to himself as a stake-driver, he remained 
the same as a clown. 

On the third night there wandered on the hippo- 
drome track one of the weirdest of grotesqueries. 
The pathos and the laughter, the tragedy and the 
misery of life were stamped on its eagle face. And 
out of its eyes shone laughing pity. 

People with the circus thought it was Jimmy 
Arkley putting on a new number. Jimmy was the 


[188] 


Whiteface 


boss clown and liked to do the unexpected. But 
Jimmy Arkley was standing on the sidelines him- 
self. In his eyes were blended jealousy and admira- 
tion. For, bowing to right and left, was a master 
buffoon all unknowing. 

He was using an old artifice to make his audience 
laugh, that of dignity being made ludicrous and still 
wrapping the remnants of dignity about itself. He 
was dressed as a king, with wide fatuous mouth and 
little shoe-button eyes. His crown was formed from 
a battered dish-pan and his sceptre was a brass cur- 
tain pole. A royal robe, trimmed with raw cotton, 
dragged on the ground behind him. The robe was so 
long that his scurvy pet alley-cat used it as a vehicle 
upon which to ride. Time after time the king would 
fall out of character long enough to chase the cat 
from the robe. But as soon as he continued his royal 
promenade the cat would get on the robe again. In 
his confusion the king would stumble over an imag- 
inary obstacle. 

After regaining his balance he was all dignity 
again. It was tragic to have so many unforeseen 
things happen just at the time he was showing him- 
self to his subjects. But the more he suffered the 
more his subjects laughed. 

When he had made his sad round of the hippo- 


[189] 


Circus Parade 


drome track and the curtains of the back entrance 
hid him from view, he took the scurvy alley-cat in 
his arms and said: 

“Well, Bookah, we done made ’um all laugh.” 

And Booker T. Washington licked the fatuous 
mouth of his master. 

The audience was still chuckling over the king’s 
exit. The manager hurried to find out who the new 
kinker was. The discovery that the king was none 
other than John Quincy Adams, the roustabout 
stake-driver, was a surprise. The manager told him 
to go ahead with the act, and gave him a raise of 
five dollars a week. This brought his salary up to 
fifteen dollars. He hugged the scurvy cat and said, 
‘“‘Heah, Bookah, take youh tongue outta my eye.” 

Jimmy Arkley of course was called in as the boss 
clown. He explained in detail to John Quincy 
Adams all the tricks which the dark gentleman with 
the scurvy cat knew by intuition. 

As a stake-driver the name of John Quincy Adams 
meant nothing. As a clown it meant even less. There 
are no names like John Quincy Adams in the circus 
Almanac de Gotha. But as I’ve said before, some- 
where his ancestors must have made forgotten kings 
to laugh. Whether it was during the period of the 
American Revolution I know not. As laughter is an 


[190] 


Whiteface 


hysteria that’ defies analysis, being synonymous with 
religious fervor or patriotic outbursts, people 
laughed at John Quincy Adams without knowing 
why. Jimmy Arkley always sent him on when the 
audience was cold. It made no difference to John 
Quincy Adams. He always got the same laughter. 

Even though Jimmy Arkley kept him in his 
place, life opened like a melon sliced for John 
Quincy Adams. He had found expression. 

He was made to assist in the smaller clown num- 
bers. He took the brunt of physical jokes perpetrated 
in the arena. He was always the clown upon whom 
the bucket of water was thrown. It was John Quincy 
Adams who was dragged by the trick runaway horse. 
It was his great yellow body that stopped the ma- 
jority of the slapsticks. 

He never complained. 

Jimmy Arkley did not like him. But the sad-eyed 
clown liked all the world and could not see dislike 
in others. The huge bulk of John Quincy Adams was 
supersensitive to pain. Who would expect a Negro 
stake-driver to have acute sensibilities? Every time 
he winced under the blows of his brother buffoons 
the audience laughed the more. It was indeed re- 
markable the expression of pain he could focus on his 
white-painted face. 


[191] 


Circus Parade 


His individuality survived it all. It was so marked 
that Jimmy Arkley was forced by the manager to 
allow him the center of the stage. He was even con- 
sulted about new numbers. At such times the great 
intuitive clown reverted to the stake-driver and be- 
came humble in the presence of whiter and lesser 
men. 

But he never entered the pad-room, never dressed 
in the long tent with the other clowns. He still ate 
in the roustabout’s section of the cook-house. His 
increase in salary was of benefit only to me and the 
scurvy cat. The latter was now heavy and dreamed 
for the most part nearly all of its nine lives away on 
John Quincy Adams’ bunk. We three lived together 
in a small tent. It was away from the other tents. 
Whenever we moved to a new town John Quincy 
Adams would raise the tent alone. 

He could neither read nor write. Once when I told 
him of a tragic paper-backed novel I was reading, 
he said: 

“What all good dat do you, boy? You’s alive 
ain’t you? You doan have to read *bout nothin’.”’ 

He spent his time playing solitaire, or manipu- 
lating new tricks with dice. 

He could sing well. His voice was full of the 
tragedy of three races. He was fond of the Southern 


[192] 


Whiteface 


folk songs, though he never quite got the words of 
them correctly. A sense of drama, or an inarticulate 
feeling for beauty made him accentuate some lines 
and sing them over and over. When doing so he 
would put out his immense hand as he had when 
he first danced. J learned that it was a habit with him 
when deeply moved. He would chant with a rolling 
vibration, the wonderful quality of it choking me 
with emotion and even making the cat stop licking 
its scurvied scars and look up as the words poured 
out, the chanter’s body slouching low. 


H-i-s fingers were l-o-—n—g l-i—k-e c-ane in—the 
br—ake— 
And he—had—no—eyes—foh—to see 


And then, as softly as dawn in the desert: 


A few—more days—for—to tote de weary l-oa-d, 

No mat-teh., . ?w-ill nevah—be light 

A few moah—yeah-s till I—totteh daown de— 
Youd... . 

D-en my old Kaintucky—home—goodnight—— 


His face at the end of such a verse was a mask 
of concentrated agony. The heavy lips would quiver. 
I have often thought of him since, and of the 


[193] 


Circus Parade 


scurvy cat we both loved. Three rovers of desola- 
tion, we had been joined together by the misery of 
inarticulate understanding. The cat was quite a per- 
sonality. There were many places on his body upon 
which the fur would not grow. He spent hours shin- 
ing these spots, like a battered old soldier eternally 
dressing his wounds. « 

Even when the clown took the cat in his arms and 
sang: 


My masteh had a yaller gal, 
And she was from the Souf; 

Her hair it kinked so berry tight, 
She coulden’ shut her mouf— 


the cat looked bored. | 

Success did not affect John Quincy Adams. Some- 
where in his roving life there had been planted in his 
soul the futility of human vanity. So humble and 
self-effacing was he among the kinkers, that most of 
them forgot the master of pantomime in the person 
of the ex-stake-driver. 

As the weather grew colder we trekked toward 
that strip of Florida which projects into the Gulf of 
Mexico. 

It was a happy wandering along the Gulf. There 


[194] 


W hiteface 


was a lazy indifference to life that we of the gypsy 
clan loved. The brilliant sunshine was reflected ev- 
erywhere. Even the shadows were diffused with 
light. The air was balmy. 

We played three days in some of the towns, That 
allowed us to wander about a great deal. For the 
longer a circus plays in a town the easier it becomes 
for kinkers and flunkies. The work becomes a mere 
matter of detail, like in a penitentiary or any other 
institution. 

So I often took long walks with John Quincy 
Adams and the cat. Once in a while the clown was 
touched with the wand of reminiscence. Booker T. 
Washington, however, was always the same sad 
fellow. Bright sunshine and green lapping waves 
could not get his mind away from the patches that 
made his hide look moth-eaten. Often, as John 
Quincy and I looked out at the far green water upon 
which white ships sailed, Booker T. Washington 
would turn away as if scornful of our illusion of 
beauty. He was an epic of boredom. 

Only one thing marred the happiness of our 
world. It was the year of a presidential election, 
and owing to the uncertainty of how the pendulum 
of politics would swing, the powers that be re- 
trenched financially. Times became hard. 


[1951] 


Circus Parade 


As a consequence there was more friction between 
the colored and white races in the section through 
which we journeyed. 

Many fights occurred. 

But John Quincy Adams was not at all concerned 
by the animosities of differently colored men. It was 
not in his yellow hulk to inflict pain. He cringed, 
however, at each tale of physical violence he heard. 
Always there came into his face the look of concen- 
trated agony. And once, when a Negro had been 
laid out with a rock, he said to me, 

“What foh men ’buse each other?” 

“TI don’t know, Quince,” I replied. ““There were 
probably some Irish in the gang.” 

He laughed, his grave-yard of teeth showing. 

“Yeah, Red Boy, theah was some niggahs too, Pll 
bet.’ 

“No, I don’t think so, Quince,” I said banteringly. 
“The Niggers and the Irish like each other. You 
know they both had to make a long fight for free- 
dom.” 

John Quincy Adams was slouching low in the 
tent. He looked across at Booker T. Washington, 
who had just finished licking the patch above his 
paw. 

“Did you heah that, Bookeh T.? Did you all heah 


[196] 


Whiteface 


what the Red Boy says? He done read dat in one o’ 
dem books, Bookeh T. He doan know what we 
know.” His voice trailed off. . . . ‘““Niggah an’ de 
Irish like each other.” Then he turned toward 
Booker T. Washington and me. “You done heah 
that song, ain’t you, Red Boy, the niggah sing? 


I’m a goin’ to put on my shoes and put on my coat, 
An am goin to walk all oveh God’s Heaben 


“Well, that ain’t nevah so—now or no otheh 
time.”’ He laughed loudly. 

“Heah’s what happened. A big black niggah goes 
prancin’ into heaven an’ all the streets was lined 
wit’ gold and silber lampposts an’ big green an’ 
black pahrots a carryin’ ’Merican flags in dere claws 
kep’ shoutin’ out, “‘Heah’s de way, brotheh. black 
man,’ an’ dey leads ’em right up to de peahly gates, 
an’ right at de cohneh was a big chaih made outta 
oysteh shells, an’ de oystehs was a sittin’ up in deah 
shells a singin’: 


It’s de land ob de free 
An de home ob de slave, 
Sts-teh, sis-teh. 
The Lawd heals all youh wombs. 
Glor-ry, Glory, Glor—eee, glor—ee, 
The Lawd heals all youh wombs. 
[1971] 


Circus Parade 


“De big niggah he goes a prancin’ by, a washed all 
black in de blood ob de lamb, an’ goes a slidin’ up de 
corrydoor towahds de Great God Almighty who’s a 
standin’ theah waitin’. Then you should all hab 
seen dat niggah tuhn all reddah’n youh haih. A 
oysteh runs outta its shell and pinches his leg an’ 
says, ‘Heah you, niggah, you all is in de Irish section 
ob heaben. You kneels befoah youh God, you black 
bastahd.’ 

“God, he looks aroun’ an’ sees de oysteh an’ says, 
‘Get youh back to youh shell. Oystehs should be 
seen and not heard.’ Then God he tuhns to the nig- 
gah who’s a kneelin’ theah reddah’n a spanked baby, 
an’ he says: 

‘““*What’s youh all mean by this overdue famil- 
iahity? Doan you all know dis ain’t youh heaven? 
Who tol’ you come in heah, anyhow? I says to my 
pahrots not to leabe no niggahs in heah. Dis is Irish 
heaven, an’ doan you know dey ain’t no freedom 
wheah you sees birds carryin’ the “Merican flag? — 
Dey carries dat for purtection w’en de win’s git 
rough. Now you jist chase on outta heah, Black Boy, 
to niggah heaben. It’s obeh deah back ob de slaugh- 
teh house.’ | 

“The big niggah he walk away fasteh’n lightnin’, 
an’ God he done call out, “Heah, you lazy oystehs, 


[198] 


Whiteface 


scrub up dis place wheah de niggah’s feet habe been. 
An’ tell dem pahrots to let no moah niggahs in heah. 
Fuhst thing I know dese silber walks’ll be all black.’ 

“Den de niggah he goes a singin’ obeh towards de 
slaughteh house past wheah de dead oystehs is bur- 
ied: 


Jesus my awl to heaben has gone. 
W heah is de stump I laid it on, 


“An’ dat’s how de niggah walked all obeh God’s 
heaben. Dem niggah’s is all de time kiddin’ dem- 
selves.” 

The wind from the Gulf had turned colder. It 
moaned dismally about the tent as John Quincy 
Adams concluded his tale of the Negro in Irish 
Heaven. He had finished a hard day’s playing to 
half-empty seats and was soon stretched out on the 
bunk with Booker T. Washington. Soon I could 
hear the cat purring and the uncouth pantomimist 
breathing heavily. 

The night finally pushed its way into a drizzly 
morning. I went early to do my chores with the 
animals. They huddled forlornly together in the 
corner of their cages. 

We loitered about until afternoon. A small crowd 


[199] 


Circus Parade 


again turned out for the midday performance. A 
cold wind blew from the Gulf and all nerves were 
testy. Every person seemed to have a chip on his 
shoulder. The natives were hostile to the circus peo- 
ple. 

‘Somethin’s goin’ to happen in dis burg. I feels 
it in muh bones,” was John Quincy Adams’ com- 
ment at the supper table. 

‘Nope, you’re all cold, Quince,” I said. “Every- 
thing’ll slip along all right and we’ll breeze outta 
here tomorrow an’ in two days we'll hit Miami. 
Then things’ll break better.” 

‘Maybe so, maybe so, but I done got a funny 
feelin’,” was John Quincy’s rejoinder. 

That evening a colored man was said to have 
insulted a white woman. He had, intentionally, or 
otherwise, stepped ahead of her in the purchase of a 
ticket. 

A white gentleman saw the act. He slammed the 
Negro in the jaw. The Negro, not knowing his place, 
slammed the white gentleman back. Another race 
riot started. 

The Negroes connected with the circus disap- 
peared as if by magic. Gangs of white men were look- 
ing for them everywhere. | | 

When found, the Negro was sent running down 


[200] 


W hiteface 


the road followed by rock salt and bacon rind from 
the guns of the whites. It was great fun until a col- 
ored man sent a real bullet through the arm of a 
white man and ducked under the circus tent. 

The rules of the game had been broken. The white 
men now demanded blood. They surrounded the 
main tent like bush-beaters, closing in on a preda- 
tory animal. Carrying knives, guns and clubs, the 
avenging Southerners tramped through the tent. 

I covered John Quincy Adams with a heavy 
blanket as the men came closer to our tent. With 
pounding heart I heard them talking as they 
searched. 

“He ducked in here somewheres. We'll git him,” 
one of them said. 

After a seeming eternity of waiting a man pushed 
the flaps open and entered our tent. He was followed 
by five other men. 

“You ain’t got a nigger in here, have yu?” asked 
the leader. 

“Nigger—hell no, what’ud a nigger be doin’ in 
here?” I asked hotly. 

Just then Booker T. Washington ran across the 
tent and burrowed under the blanket. With heart- 
sick eyes I looked at him. The eyes of the five men 
followed. 


[201 ] 


Circus Parade 


“You damn little liar,’’ shouted the leader as he 
pushed me backward and rushed forward with the 
other men to the blanket. A shout went up. 

“Here he is. We got him.’”’ Many more men en- 
tered the tent. A voice shouted, ““That’s him, that’s 
the nigger that shot me.” 

Another man laughed. “Lookit him, tryin’ to 
make up like a white man—paint smeared all oveh 
his mug.” 

The face of John Quincy Adams was full of pain. 
The gentlemen kicked and pushed him. He had the 
look of the doomed in his eyes as he looked about 
frantically. I thought of his abnormal dread of 
pain. 

‘He didn’t do nothin’, men, He’s a white nigger,”’ 
I pleaded. 

“Get the hell outta here,” snapped the leader. 
‘We'll make him wish he was white. What was he 
hidin’ for if he ain’t the one?” 

Several men held John Quincy Adams while two 
more swung vicious blows at his head. One man 
used a black-jack. John’s head fell on his chest as 
though his neck had broken. 

“T ain’t nevah huht nothin’,” he gasped weakly. 
A fist smashed against his mouth. Booker T. Wash- 


[202] 


Whiteface 


ington rubbed against my leg. I picked him up and 
held him in the tensity of emotion. 

Booted along, half walking and half dragged, his 
eyes covered with blood that flowed from the cuts 
in his head, John Quincy Adams was finally taken to 
a place where a fire was burning. 

On the fire was a large square tin can into which 
chunks of tar were being thrown. Some of the tar 
fell into the flames and caused dense black smoke to 
curl around the heads of victim and persecutors. 

“Les stake him to the fire an’ burn him,” yelled 
the man with the injured arm. “He’d a killed me 
dead if he could.” 

“Nope, les jist give him a nice overcoat o’ hot 
tar,” suggested another, “that'll hold him in his 
place for a while.” 

They tore his shirt from his body and threw it 
into the fire. Then his undershirt was torn into 
strips and stuck into the melting tar. I clung to 
Booker T. Washington. 

There were moans as the tar was applied to the 
heaving body. The nauseating reek of burnt flesh 
and the odor of tar was everywhere. 

The frenzy of the tormentors at last died down. 
They left the scene after kicking the prostrate form 


[203] 


Circus Parade 


on the ground. The fire smouldered away in green- 
ish smoke as I approached the body of John Quincy 
Adams with Booker T. Washington in my arms. The 
white paint on his face was streaked with tar and 
blood. 

His face was haggard, like that of a man crucified. 

I knelt beside him while Booker T. Washington 
licked his face. 

The wind blew in cold gusts from the Gulf. 

But John Quincy Adams was forever unconscious 
of wind and weather. 


[204 ] 


XIII: An Elephant Gets Even 


S&S 


XIII: An Elephant Gets Even 


HE term “goosey” is supposed to have origi- 
nated with Southern Negroes. It covers a 
much larger meaning than the word “ticklish.” 

The victim is supersensitive to human touch. 
Once his malady is discovered by low class minds he 
finds little peace among them. He is continually be- 
ing touched unexpectedly. His frantic actions at 
such times are the delight of his tormentors. 

The elephant trainer’s real name was William 
Jay Dickson. I learned it only by accident. His name 
with the circus members was always ‘‘Goosey.”’ 

Whenever Goosey was touched unexpectedly from 
behind, he would react with violence. If he hap- 
pened to have a club in his hand he would strike 
the first object that stood in his way. If he had no 
club he would yell out loud the very thing of which 
he was thinking at the time. Once he was touched 
suddenly as the Moss-Haired Girl walked near him. 
He screamed. 

“Lord, I’d like to love you.” She turned about, 
saw his predicament and walked on smiling. 


[207] 


Circus Parade 


Goosey would beg his tormentors not to tease 
him. No one paid him the slightest attention. It 
became a mania. If he heard a sound within 
ten feet of his rear, he would jump suddenly and 
either strike out or yell that which was in his 
mind. 

Goosey had a surprising knowledge of animals 
gained from long practical experience. Elephants 
were his favorites. He had been around the world 
seven times, always in charge of elephants. He had 
spent a year in Africa with a man celebrated for his 
love of killing dumb brutes. Becoming disgusted 
with the wanton slaughter in the name of sport— 
it was really a tusk-hunting expedition—he deserted 
his employer in the Upper Congo. The experience 
haunted Goosey. 

“When a elephant is shot it jist falls like the 
world comin’ down. IJ jist couldn’t stand it no more, 
for elephants don’t harm nobody that don’t harm 
them.” 

After Goosey deserted he made his way for miles 
through the jungle. The illiterate naturalist would 
watch a herd of elephants by the hour. | 

“T ain’t never seen one of ’em lyin’ down in my 
life. They don’t never sleep. They kin smell you a 
mile off in the jungle an’ the only way to fool ’em 


[2087] 


An Elephant Gets Even 


is to git aroun’ so’s the wind don’t blow you in their 
direction. 

“Tve seen ’em dig big spuds up wit’ their tusks. 
They nip ’em outta the ground like a farmer would 
wit’ a hoe. An’ they’re right an’ left handed wit’ 
their tusks, jist like people. An’ you can’t fool ’em 
either. They allus know jist where they are, an’ they 
know people better than people. They know how to 
take short cuts through the jungles in the dark an’ 
they kin find them when travelin’ as fast as a run- 
nin’ horse. You kin allus find ’em at the same place 
in the jungles every year. They’re jist like a whale 
that way, they kin allus go back to where they was 
born in the ocean.” 

Goosey’s chinless face smiled, 

“Tl never forgit the time I'd waited all winter 
to git a chance to take Big Jumbo from New York 
to Californie. I was broke flatter’n a nigger police- 
man’s feet. 

“I'd been with Jumbo the season afore an’ got 
laid off at the end of it ’cause there wasn’t enough 
coin to keep anybody but the main trainer. But he 
couldn’t make the trip ’cause he was one o’ them 
goofy married guys an’ he has a skirt for a boss. He 
was no good animal trainer ’cause he let a woman 
run him, an’ I says to myself, says I, “There’ll be 


[209] 


Circus Parade 


somethin’ wrong wit’ Jumbo if this guy takes care 0° 
him long witout me.’ ”’ 

Goosey hated all elephant trainers, but Jumbo’s 
trainer at this time had his particular scorn. ““He was 
a long tall drink o’ water,’’ went on Goosey, “‘an he 
believed in the honor o’ women an’ everything. He 
got sore once when I says to him, ‘Who do you s’ pose 
your wife steps aroun’ wit’ while you’re chamber- 
maidin’ these elephants hither an’ yon?’ 

“He looked at me tough an’ says, ‘You kin alluz 
tell when a guy was raised in the gutter by the ques- 
tions he asks about the fair sex.’ 

“ “Maybe so,’ I says, “but you learn a heluva lotta 
things in the gutter that ain’t in the books about 
women. When I was a kid I lived in a railroad di- 
vision town. That’s where you learn about women.” 

“What the hell’s that got to do wit’ it?’ he says. 

“Nothin’,’ I resounders, ‘only when a railroader 
comes in off his run, he rings the front door bell an’ 
beats it like hell aroun’ to the kitchen jist in time to 
ketch the guy buttonin’ his coat.’ 

“Again I asks you—what the hell’s that got to 
do wit’ it? You oughta be ’shamed o’ yourself slan- 
derin’ the name o’ womanhood that way.’ 

“IT ain’t a slanderin’ ’em,’ I says, ‘I'm jista 
speakin’ facks. A railroader’s only away from his 


[210] 


An Elephant Gets Even 


home a day or two, an’ what in hell would happen if 
he was a elephant trainer an’ gone all season?’ 

“For shame—for very shame,’ he says, ‘I’m 
from the South where women’s held in rev’rence an’ 
I thank God my mother was a good woman.’ 

“Well I hain’t a sayin’ nothin’ against your 
mother, Boss, but they ain’t none o’ them any good. 
They’re trickier’n a louse on a fiddler’s head.’ 

“T don’t think the Boss liked me after that. He 
knew that I knew he was a married goof an’ we 
don’t like nobody when they know we’re goofs. So 
I think he was glad when he got a chance to ship me 
to Californie wit’ Jumbo for the good o’ his health. 

“Well old Jumbo’d alluz been a fiend for milk. 
When he was a little baby not more’n four feet 
high an’ not weighin’ over a thousand pounds he’d 
chase a cow right down the aisle of a church and 
pump her dry. One time he chased a bull in New 
York State. Well he sure was disgusted. 

“Well it come time for me to take Jumbo west. 
They had him all fixed up in a car at Yonkers; the 
crew was all ready, an’, God, I was glad to be git- 
tin’ away from the snowballs to the warm sunshine. 

“Well, sir, we hadn’t any more’n started when 
Jumbo takes one breath and blows the side o’ the car 
out, and lays right down an’ dies.” 


[211] 


Circus Parade 


Goosey stopped at this memory of tragedy. 

“TI jist went nuts,” he gasped. “Who the hell 
wanted a dead elephant in Californie? 

“We cut him open an’ there was eighty-eight cans 
o’ condensed milk in him. He’d never even opened 
"em—Jist swallowed ’em whole. 

“Well, sir, that cured me of havin’ any guys that’s 
nutty on women workin’ on my elephant squad. I 
wouldn’t care if Pope Pius the XV come to me for 
a job; he’d have to prove to me he wasn’t married.” 

Laughter followed Goosey’s words. He became 
more earnest, and rubbed the place where his chin 
should have been. 

‘An’ you can’t abuse an elephant either an’ get 
away wit’ it. They'll git you every time. I know 
when I first joined out I was jist a kid an’ I worked 
under a guy up north. He’d brought a baby ele- 
phant up an’ kep’ whippin’ it all the time. Indigo 
was the baby’s name. An’ Indigo was only afraid of 
one thing in the world an’ that was his trainer, 
whose name was Bill Neely. He was a mean guy an’ 
he wanted to make the elephant mean so’s no one 
else could handle him. Then he could allus hold his 
job that way. 

“By an’ by Indigo got the rep of bein’ a rogue 
elephant, a mean one. Neely used to like to show 


[212] 


An Elephant Gets Even 


off wit’ him. Every time Neely’d turn his back I’d 
see Indigo lookin’ at him wit’ his mean little eyes 
stuck out like billiard balls. Then when Neely’d 
turn aroun’ an’ look at him, Indigo’d begin to swing 
his trunk friendly like. An old boozefighter elephant 
man who used to work wit’s us says to me one day, 
he says, ‘Indigo’ll kill him one o’ these days jist as 
sure’s Barnum was a crook. Now you watch.’ 

“We got so we begun to watch Neely jist like you 
would a guy they were goin’ to hang. Then we got so 
we'd be nice to him ’cause we jist knew he wasn’t 
goin’ to live very long. But he was havin’ a hell of 
a time. He’d carry the old bull hook an’ prod Indigo 
every chance he got. The elephant’d wince an’ stick 
its eyes out—then be nice agin. 

“One time he was out showin’ him off on the lot 
an’ forgot hisself an’ walked between Indigo an’ the 
big cage where the hipplepotamus was. Then he 
prods him the last time while all of us was watchin’. 

“Indigo gave a quick snort an’ a shove an’ Neely 
went smack against the wheel like a lotta mush. In- 
digo’d shoved him right through the spokes an’ 
Neely never had time to say ‘Boo.’ 

“There was more hell right then than you could 
shake a stick at. But Indigo didn’t wait. He jist 
started runnin’ hell bent for anything that was in 


[213] 


Circus Parade 


his road. There was sure as hell some scramblin’. 
I damn near flew a gettin’ outta his way ’cause the 
whole damn lot was his’n far’s I was concerned. Who 
was me to interfere wit’ his little fun? 

“Indigo jist headed for the kitchen. He went 
right on through takin’ the tent wit’ him. “Bout 
twenty gallons o’ soup was on the stove. He never 
stopped for neither of them. He jist pushes the stove 
outta his way an’ the soup flies all over him an’ he 
smashes the big can, then he heads for the main tent 
an’ goes right on through it like vinegar through a 
tin horn. He kep’ raisin’ the devil for an hour an’ 
finally I went and got him with a ten cent plug o’ 
tobacco. He followed me right over to where his 
stake and chain was an’ stood there. Then I chained 
him up, an’ I ain’t never had no trouble wit’ an ele- 
phant since.” 

Roxie was always known as a bull elephant, as 
are all females. She had a baby elephant about three 
and a half feet high. It was born in captivity and 
given to Roxie to raise. Baby elephants are known 
as punks. Roxie was indifferent to the punk, so it 
became Goosey’s duty to look after it. Four times 
each day he went to the cook house to get a concoc- 
tion of boiled rice and condensed milk that was a 
substitute for elephant milk. Though Roxie and the 


[214] 


An Elephant Gets Even 


punk were advertised as mother and baby, it was 
really Goosey who mothered the young elephant. 

Many of us with the circus felt that Roxie knew 
of Goosey’s affliction. She would touch him in the 
rear with her trunk at the most unexpected times. 

Bill Gleason had been Roxie’s trainer for a short 
period. Roxie always hated him. Whenever he came 
near her she would raise her trunk and hit the 
ground until it sounded as though someone had 
dropped a bass drum. Gleason was always teasing 
Goosey. 

One day as Goosey leaned over to fasten Roxie’s 
leg chain, Gleason touched him in the rear unex- 
pectedly. Goosey carried a bull hook at the time 
(an ash stick about three feet long with a hook on 
the end which is used to make the elephant mind by 
prodding his sensitive skin). He leaped high in the 
air and brought the bull hook down on Roxie’s trunk 
with great violence. Roxie had seen Gleason running 
away and laughing. She wheeled quickly and ran 
after him with a terrible trumpet roar. Gleason saw 
Roxie running after him and hurried toward the 
menagerie. That place was in an unroar. Roxie in 
her speed hit a quarter pole and it crashed on top 
of the lions’ cage. They roared loudly and the noise 
was taken up by other animals. Gleason ducked out 


f2157] 


Circus Parade 


through the sidewall of the tent and Roxie followed 
him with half the tent draped about her. Goosey 
hurried after the elephant, and hit her on the trunk 
with the bull hook. She looked at her friend in 
pained surprise. As Goosey stood and debated with 
her, Cameron and Finnerty came up, Cameron or- 
dered Goosey to bring the other two bulls up to 
Roxie. She was yoked to them and led to place and 
staked down on all four corners. Then the circus 
owner ordered Goosey to beat Roxie. He had the 
spunk to refuse. Cameron started rapping Roxie 
on her toes, and then gave her a more terrible beat- 
ing. Her trumpeting could be heard for a far dis- 
tance. When the beating was over and Cameron had 
gone, Goosey made up to Roxie by rubbing her be- 
hind the ears and feeding her tobacco. As he did so, 
Gleason foolishly drew near again. 

At any rate, Gleason stood within a few feet of 
Goosey after he had just released Roxie. Roxie 
watched Gleason with her little pig-like eyes while 
Goosey picked up a bull hook. 

It may have been accidental, but the old circus 
men said the next move had been deliberately and 
quickly thought out by Roxie. Goosey’s back was 
turned to Roxie so as to be able to protect himself 
from Gleason again. But he did not reckon on Roxie. 


[216] 


An Elephant Gets Even 


She reached out her trunk and touched Goosey on a 
sensitive spot. Goosey jumped in the air and yelled 
and yelled and at the same time brought his bull 
hook down on Gleason’s head as if he were driving 
a stake. 

Gleason fell to the ground with a deep dent in his 
skull. ! 

Roxie waved her trunk indifferently. The doctor 
sewed seven stitches in Gleason’s head. The show 
left town without him. 

Goosey was not molested again that season. 


[217] 


XIV: A Negro Girl 


=. yorae 


XIV: A Negro Girl 


E joined us in a Florida town. He was not 
a typical circus roughneck in appearance. His 
hair was a wavy black turned prematurely grey. His 
eyes were deep brown, his jaw was firm, his lips 
tight, and his body large, well shaped, and muscu- 
lar, 
“Any work here?” he asked Silver Moon Dugan. 
“Nope. All filled up. But the property boss needs 
a man,”’ was the terse reply. 
The property boss gave him a sixteen-pound 
sledge and told him to drive tent stakes. It was be- 


fore breakfast. By the time the meal was announced 


he had driven, with the help of two other men, over 
a hundred stakes to hold the property tent. 

He unloaded property effects belonging to per- 
formers. He also wore a bright red and green uni- 
form and led a group of Shetland ponies inside the 
big top when the special act was on. 

As Sunday was wash day with the circus, he would 
always take time to wash his rough clothing. 

He worked hard. He smoked a twisted pipe when 


[2225] 


Circus Parade 


sitting alone, and acted disdainful of everybody, in- 
cluding Cameron. We called him “Blackie” among 
ourselves. 

It was not long before we looked upon him as a 
superior being. His good looks, his strong and clean 
body, his proud manner fascinated us. We respected 
his disdain. 

He seldom talked to us. When he did, his speech 
was direct and brutal. 

Having created an air of mystery about himself, 
we were always anxious to learn something about 
him. 

Silver Moon Dugan soon heard of his ability to 
swing a heavy sledge. He induced him to leave the 
property boss and join his unit at ten dollars a month 
increase, or forty dollars a month, top wages on the 
canvas crew. 

He made the change with no more concern than 
he took in filling his pipe. The stakes were always 
laid out for him when the tent was to go up. Once 
the stake was started in the ground by his two help- 
ers he would slam it downward in nine strokes. The 
sledge would swing upward, the steel glistening in 
the sun. After making a circle at least eight feet it 
would hit the stake squarely. No other man with the 


[222] 


A Negro Girl 


circus could drive a stake in the ground with less 
than twelve strokes. 

Even Silver Moon Dugan respected him. 

“Where you from, Buddy? Been troupin’ long?” 
he asked him. 

“Sure thing. I was raised with a circus. My father 
was Barnum’s mother.” 

Silver Moon Dugan muttered contemptuously to 
Buddy Conroy, “Funny guy,” and let him alone aft- 
erward. 

“What do you think of Blackie?” I asked Jock. 

“You géf it, say it yourself, kid. He’s no regular 
circus stiff. Look at that nose and that jaw and those 
eyes that cut like steel. He’s got razors in ’em. He 
was born to be hanged.” Jock would say no more. 

_ We left Pensacola, Florida, and played a small 
town about eighty miles distant. It had drizzled all 
day and the lot was slippery. Blackie had a habit of 
walking around it, head bent low, left hand holding 
_ the pipe in his mouth. 

It was about seven in the evening and the drizzly 
day lingered faintly. Blackie saw a form in the 
semi-darkness. “Here—what are you doing there?” 
he asked quickly. 

A scared Negro girl, not over fourteen, had been 


[223] 


Circus Parade 


him. : 

“T doan do nothin’, jist a peerin’ in,” she an- 
swered, with a half petulant smile. 

She was more yellow than black. Her face was 
beautiful and round, her mouth small, her teeth 
even and white, her lips full and she was dark-eyed. 
She wore a plaid dress which curved above her hips 
and accentuated her lithe and lovely form. 

Blackie held her shoulders in his immense hands. 

“God damn, but you're nice,” he said, “slender 
and clean like a new whip. cop pAaMN!” He crushed 
her to him. 

Pushing her away at arm’s-length, he still held 
her shoulders and looked in her eyes. 

“Why in the hell you should have to sneak in a 
circus is what Id like to know.”’ 

The girl looked up at him with wide eyes of won- 
der. He put his arm about her. She clung to him at 
once and pulled his head down and kissed him. 

Blackie’s eyes blazed. He led the slender young 
girl, now all animal herself, to the rear of the snake- 
charmer’s wagon. She was heard to cry, “Oh Misteh 
Man, Misteh Man,” a few times as.if in pain. Then 
all became very still. 

Later, he put her on a mattress in an empty 
[224] 


trying to crawl under the tent. She stood before 


A Negro Girl 


canvas-covered wagon and stood guard over it while 
fifteen white circus roughnecks entered one at a 
time. Before entering, each man gave Blackie a half 
dollar. | 

When the last man had gone Blackie smuggled 
the girl into the big top. 

Late that night, as the circus train was ready to 
pull out, the little Negro girl. saw Blackie stand- 
ing in the open door of a car. 

Running with arms extended she yelled, ‘“Misteh 
Man, Misteh Man!” and tried to board the car as 
the train started. 

We watched Blackie’s unchanging expression. 
The girl held desperately to the car. and tried to 
swing her lithe body inside. “Let her come on in,”’ 
yelled Silver Moon Dugan. 

“What? A nigger wench?” snapped Blackie as 
he put his foot against the girl’s forehead and kicked 
her from the car. 

The girl could be heard wailing pitifully above 
the accumulating noise of the rolling cars, ‘““Misteh 
Man, Misteh—Man—do come on back, Misteh 
Man!” 

The engine whistle shrieked as we rattled by red 


and green lights. 
* 2 2 


[2251] 


some minutes. He then lit a match and smoke 


i 


eto 
va r 


Circus Parade | 


i) 
iawee x). 


if t 


his pipe. It had gone out. He remained sil 


aes 


[226] 


XV: Red-Lighted 


XV: Red-Lighted 


ILVER MOON DUGAN was known as the 

greatest ‘‘red-lighter” in the country. Red-light- 

ing was an ancient and dishonorable custom in- 
dulged in by many a circus twenty years ago. 

The act consisted of opening the side door of a 
moving car, and kicking the undesirable traveler out. 

How the term originated is in confusion. Some 
ruffan authorities claimed that men were only 
kicked off trains near the red lights of a railroad 
yard. But I have seen many kicked off circus trains 
where no red lights gleamed at all. 

But there can be no doubt that the practice orig- 
inated in order to cheat circus laborers and other 
roustabouts out of their wages. If the victim per- 
sisted in walking many miles and following the cir- 
cus he was chased off the lot. There was no redress 
in any of the states for those cheated. The poor 
man’s justice then, as now, was not only blind, but 
lame and halt. 

Silver Moon Dugan had been with Cameron’s 
World’s Greatest Combined Shows three years. He 


[229] 


Circus Parade 


was either of French or Spanish extraction. How he 
came by any of his names no one ever knew. He was 
tall, wiry and dark. He had thin straggly hair. His 
black eyes burned out of a rat face. He had a club 
foot and walked with a limp. He could talk French, 
Italian, German, and excellent English when neces- 
sary. 

His greeting each morning to his roughneck can- 
vasmen was, “Good morning, sons. You know what 
kinda sons I mean.” 

Dugan was nearly aways drunk, but never showed 
it. He was a hard, domineering, brutal, snarling 
driver of men. He carried a blackjack and a revolver 
at all times. He could load or unload a circus faster, 
and with fewer men, than any other canvas boss in 
the nation. 

To mark a lot for a tent it is necessary to make ac- 
curate measurements. A steel tape is used to locate 
places for centre poles, dressing tents and stakes. 

Silver Moon Dugan could walk on a lot, give it 
a quick glance as he limped about on his club foot, 
and know with unerring precision in five minutes 
just how the tent was to be placed. “You gotta know 
your canvas,” he would say as he would allow two 
feet for shrinkage if the tent was wet. If the canvas 


[23°] 


Red-Lighted 


was extremely dry, he would allow for its stretching 
a foot. 

Once on the lot, he would gather a bundle of “lay- 
ing out pins,” wire needles about a quarter of an 
inch in diameter and two feet long. The eyes of the 
needles were about an inch in circumference. To each 
was tied a piece of red flannel. Dugan would throw 
these needles in the ground with exact precision at 
the point where a stake was to be driven. 

A canvas boss of the old school, he hated all ad- 
vance men, those fellows who traveled ahead of the 
circus. He blamed them for rough lots, inclement 
weather, poor business and bad food. 

Once while hurrying about the lot he stumbled 
over a pile of manure. “The God damn advance 
man’s fault,” he yelled, unmindful of the fact that 
the advance man had no control over local horses. 

Two men had been his lieutenants during the 
years he spent with Cameron. One was Gorilla 
Halen, so named because he looked like a gorilla and 
moved slower than the sands of time. 

The other man was called ‘“The Ghost.’”’ He was 
more like shadow than reality, a shambling watery 
man with uneven shoulders, a crooked mouth and a 
hare lip. He was a man who never did anything 


[231] 


Circus Parade 


right. Clumsy and filthy, a human nearly as low in 
the mental scale as an animal, he worshipped Silver 
Moon Dugan as a god. That was his chief value in 
the world. Dugan had carried ‘““The Ghost” with one 
circus or another for eleven years, 

Dugan never smiled. The right corner of his 
mouth would merely twist in a leer when he was 
amused. Judging him from the memory of adoles- 
cence, I am certain he had no sense of humor. Rather 
did he have a sense of the atrociously ridiculous. 
The right corner of his mouth was seen to twist sev- 
eral times when he heard Goosey hitting Gleason 
with the bull hook. 

Dugan hired many romantic young men who 
wished to see the world. ‘‘I’ll show ’em the world,” 
he used to say, “at the end of a sledge.” . 

Two weeks before he had come across a young 
fellow who was anxious to travel. Dugan observed 
his clothes and watch. He agreed to give the young 
man twenty-five dollars per week and a chance “to 
work himself up,” after he discovered he could bring | 
a few hundred dollars with him. 

He told the young fellow, who was a railroader, 
that it would be necessary to bring a good watch so 
as to be on time for work each morning. “Prompt- 
ness is a jewel,” were his words. He also told him 


[232] 


Red-Lighted 


to bring several suits, two pairs of shoes, a good pis- 
tol and all the money possible, as the first month’s 
salary was held back. 

The youth reported to Dugan with two suitcases 
full of clothes, three hundred dollars in money and 
an expensive watch. The next day Dugan told him 
to put on overalls and save his good clothes for the 
larger towns. Clothes, watch and money were left 
in Dugan’s care. 

The young fellow was now huddled in the car 
with Dugan, Blackie, The Ghost, Gorilla Haley, 
_ myself and several others. 

At the next stop, Cameron and Slug Finnerty 
crawled into the car and talked over details of the 
next day with Silver Moon Dugan. The train started 
before they could get off and go to their own sec- 
tion. 

“It’s only a sixty-mile run now to 
not a stop. We’ll make it in a couple of hours,” said 
Silver Moon as Cameron and Finnerty resigned 
themselves to their environment. 

_ The rain rattled heavily on the roof of the car. 
The late season was making business even poorer. 
Everyone was in an evil mood. 

The heavy sopping pieces of canvas had been 

rolled into huge bundles and put at one end of the 
[233] 


, and 


Circus Parade 


car. “We've paraffined ’em till they cracks but they 
don’t hold off water no more. It soaks right 
through,” said Dugan to Cameron. 

The car was lighted with smoky kerosene lamps 
such as were used in old-fashioned railway cars. 
The kerosene smoke, the odor of bad liquor and 
filthy bodies, the reek of the wet and muddy canvas 
filled the air. Combined with the rainy and gloomy 
night it all seemed unreal to my tired brain, the 
haunted fragment of an ugly dream. A few men 
played cards with a dirty deck. The Ghost smoked 
the butts of cigars he had collected under the seats 
in the big tent after the show. 

There were no bunks in the car. Every canvasman 
slept in a dirty blanket in wet weather, or on the 
rolls of canvas in hot, in any spot which he could 
keep hold by right of might. 

The romance of circus life had fast faded from 
the young fellow as he looked for a spot upon which 
to stretch his shivering body. No man talked. We lay 
like stunned animals on soggy ground. The young 
man had seen neither clothes, money nor watch since 
joining the show. 

He looked about at the dreary assemblage and 
then looked up at the roof upon which the rain 
pounded heavily. 


[234] 


Red-Lighted 


“Gee, I wish I had a nice clean bed and a warm 
bath,” he whined. The card players paused for a 
moment and frowned at the boy. The Ghost held 
the butt of his cigar and looked at the young fel- 
low a moment, then put the bad-smelling tobacco 
rope in his mouth and resumed gazing at his feet. 
Blackie held his pipe tightly. 

I looked across the car at him and wondered. He 
was not one of us. But what was he? He made of 
silence a drama. 

He now rubbed his beaked nose with the stem of 
his crooked pipe. Gorilla Haley, with arms spread 
out, snored like a grand opera singer. Silver Moon 
Dugan lay on a roll of dry flags of many nations. 
They had not been used on the main tent that day 
on account of rain. He breathed heavily with 
asthma. 

Cameron and Finnerty, oblivious of surroundings, 
sat on a bundle of wet canvas and talked. 

The old car rattled, swayed and creaked over the 
rough roadbed. Thick sprays of rain blew in 
through the cracks of the side doors. 

Silver Moon Dugan buttoned his red flannel 
shirt and, rising to his feet, made his way quickly 
over piles of canvas and stacks of poles and seats. 

Accustomed to dirt, and the squalor of the cir- 


[235 


Circus Parade 


cus, the corner of his mouth twisted at the young fel- 
low’s desire for a bed and a bath. 

He put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. 

‘So it’s a bath and a bed you want, my lad,” he 
said, not unkindly, as he opened the door about 
two feet. “See if you can see any red lights ahead.” 
The young fellow looked out and answered, “No.” 

“All right,” jeered Dugan, “there’s a nice road- 


bed down there, an’ a whole damn sky full of bath.” 


He kicked the young adventure searcher out of the 
Car 


[236] 


XVI: Surprise 


ae —— a. 


XVI: Surprise 


O man moved. The boss canvasman pushed 

the door shut quickly. Cameron and Finnerty, 

momentarily disturbed, resumed talking. The card 
players were soon quarreling again over the game. 

“T took it with my ace,” insisted one. 

“You did like hell, you mean you took an ace 
from underneath,” scowled the other. 

Silver Moon Dugan joined Cameron and Fin- 
nerty. 

Gorilla Haley rose, his jaws swollen with tobacco 
juice. He rushed to the door and swung it open. 

“God Almighty, Gorilla, it’s wet enough outside. 
Do you wanta flood the state?” the Ghost asked. 

“Shut your trap,” flared Gorilla, shambling back 
to his place. 

My worn brain would not allow me to sleep. 

I thought once of crawling over the train to the 
horse car. One of the horses had been ill that day 
and I knew that Jock would travel with him. It 
suddenly dawned on me that the car had no end 


[239] 


Circus Parade 


exits, out of which I might have muscled myself 
onto the roof of the next car. 

Blackie, still holding his pipe, rose indifferently 
and walked to the end of the car. He stood still for 
a moment, legs spread apart, head down. In an- 
other second he laid his pipe on a wet piece of can- 
vas, then turned, facing us. 

“Everybody stand up!’ He whipped out the 
words sharply. In his extended right hand a blue 
steel gun. It looked to me as long as a railroad tie. 

We all rose like soldiers standing at attention. 
Cameron was the most obedient. Silver Moon hesi- 
tated. 

“Work fast, you lame bastard. I just want an 
excuse to send you to hell.’’ He took one step for- 
ward, “Tl put a hole through you so big’ you can 
pound a stake in it.” Silver Moon’s lip curled, as he 
hesitated about putting up his hands. 

For a paralyzing second I thought Blackie would 
shoot. He held the gun on a level with Dugan’s 
heart and moved nearer. I closed my eyes as if to 
shut out the noise of the explosion. Then Blackie’s 
voice went on. “What a dirty bunch of sons of 
bitches you all are.” Then, looking straight at Du- 
gan, Cameron and Finnerty—“Throw your gats 
down. And let me hear them fall hard. Come on.” 


[240] 


Surprise 
Finnerty and Dugan threw revolvers on the floor. 

“Now throw your money down—fast—every God 
damn one of you.” Pocketbooks followed the guns. 
I threw a twenty-five cent piece. 

Blackie half-grinned as it lit near a revolver. 

He turned to me. “Open that door, kid.”’ Obedient 
at once, I slid the door backward its full length of 
six feet. 

The noise of the rushing train increased. The 
rain swished across the car. 

“Now everybody turn around. Walk to the door 
—and jump. The guy that turns gets a bullet 
through his dome.” 

Cameron looked at Blackie appealingly. Blackie 
laughed. 

“You crooked old hypocrite, you can’t talk your 
way outta this.”” He lunged forward with the gun 
and shouted, “JUMP!” 

Being second to no man in the art of catching a 
flying train, I jumped swiftly and with supreme con- 
fidence. The rest of the men followed me. 

Before I could gain my balance on the soggy 
ground, a car had passed. There were two more to 
come. I knew every iron ladder and every portion of 
the train by heart. I could see the forms of the 
other men, some stretched out, others scrambling to 


[2411] 


Circus Parade 


their feet on the ground. I heard an unearthly 
screech. A gun went off. 

My brain, long trained in hobo lore, functioned 
fast. I sized up the ground to make sure of my foot- 
ing and looked ahead to make sure I would crash 
into no bridge while running swiftly with the train. 

When one more car whirled by me, I started 
running. 

If I missed the end of the last car I at least would 
not be thrown under the train. Running full speed, 
my brain racing with my feet, I knew that to grab 
was one thing, to grab and not to miss was another, 
and to cling like frozen death once my hands went 
round the iron rung of the ladder. I knew that I 
must race with the train, else if I grabbed it while 
I stood still, my arms might be jerked out of their 
sockets. 

My cap was gone. The rain slashed across my 
face. When about to grab, my right foot slipped, and 
I was thrown off my balance for a second. 

With muscles suddenly taut, then loosened like 
a springing tiger’s, I sprang upward. My hands 
clung to the iron rung. My body was jerked toward 
the train. Thinking quickly, I buried my jaw in my 
left shoulder, pugilist fashion. It saved me from 


[242] 


Surprise 
being knocked out by the impact of my jaw with 
the side of the car. I finally got my left foot on 
the bottom of the ladder, my right leg dangling. 

The car passed the group who had been redlighted 
with me. A man grabbed at my right foot. I kicked 
desperately, and felt for an instant my foot against 
the flesh of his face. My arms ached as though they 
were being severed from my shoulders with a razor 
blade. A numbness crept over me. My brain throbbed 
in unison with my heart. Drilled in primitive en- 
durance of the road for four long years, I was to 
_ face the supreme test. 

I had no love for the red-lighted men. Rather, 
I admired Blackie more. Neither did I blame him 
for red-lighting me. A man had once trusted an- 
other in my world. He was betrayed. 

I had the young road kid’s terrible aversion — 
against walking the track for any man. My law was 
—to stay with the train, to allow no man to “ditch” 
me. 

When the numbness left me I crawled up the lad- 
der. Blinded by the rain, my hair plastered to my 
head in spite of the wind that roared round the 
train, I lay, face downward, and clawed with tired 
hands at the roof of the smooth wet car. 


[243] 


Circus Parade 


Sometime afterward, whether a minute or an 
hour, I do not know, I tried to rise. My arms bent. 
I lay flat again. 

My mania had been to tell Jock. It suddenly 
dawned on me to tell anybody I saw. But how could 
I see anyone while the train lurched through the 
wind-driven and rain-washed night? 

I cried in the intensity of emotion. Pulling my- 
self together, I dragged my body to the end of the 
first car, about sixty feet. Reaching there, I had 
not the strength to muscle my body to the next car. 
After a seemingly endless exertion I pulled myself 
across the three-foot chasm between the two cars. 
Beneath me the wheels clicked with fierce revolu- 
tions on the rails. The wind blew the rain in heavy 
gusts through the chasm. , 

With the aid of the chain which ran from the 
wheel at the top of the car to the brake beneath, I 
worked my body around to the ladder, and crawled 
laboriously to the top of the second car. My muscles 
throbbed with pain at the armpits. I wondered if 
I had dislocated my arms. I tried to crawl on my 
hands and knees, and gave it up. Finally I suc- 
ceeded in dragging myself across the second car. My 
heart pounded as though it would jump from my 
breast. 


[244] 


Surprise 

I leaned out from my position between the cars. 
The light still gleamed in the open door of the car 
from which we had been red-lighted. 

Blackie was standing in the doorway. His shadow 
was thrown far across the ground. The running train 
gave it a weird dancing effect. It pumped over the 
rough earth and cut through telegraph poles and 
fences as the rain splashed upon it. 

The engine whistled loud and long. My heart 
jumped with glee. It was going to stop. Suddenly 
the train gained momentum and the engine whistled 
twice. This meant: straight through. We passed a 
few red and green lights, and later some that were 
yellowish white. | 

The whistle shrieked again, a low moaning dismal 
effort like a whistle being blown under water. I 
sensed a long run for the train. The fireman’s hand 
lay heavily on the bell rope. It became light as day 
each time he opened the fire-box to shovel in coal. 

The rain still slashed downward with blinding 
fury. In spite of everything my eyes became heavy. 
Knowing the folly of going to sleep and falling be- 
tween the cars, I opened my coat and held my body 
close to the iron rod which held the brake. I then 
buttoned the coat around it. While being forced 
to stand as rigid as one in a straight jacket, it would 


[245] 


Circus Parade 


nevertheless save me from being dashed under the 
wheels. 

After many wet miles the train slowed at the edge 
of a railroad yard. Lights from engines blended 
with white steam and made the yards light as 
early day. 

I looked across the yards and saw Blackie mak- 
ing for the open road, | 


We gained speed for a few minutes and then ran © 


slower, at last coming to a stop in the yards. 

I hurried to the horse car and found Jock. He was 
sitting on some straw near Jerry, the sick horse. I 
gasped out the story of the red-lighting to him. 

Jock said without energy, “It was a tough break 
for you, kid,” and shrugged his shoulders. “T'll tell 
the Baby Buzzard.’ He frowned. “We'll have to 
go back after them, I guess.” 

He studied for another moment. “It would be a 
great stunt to let °em walk in. They deserve it. But 
no. I guess it’s best for you to come and tell the Baby 
Buzzard. We'll be all finished in a week and you’d 
lose your wages if you ducked now and didn’t tell.” 

“Yeah, Jock, you’re right,” I said. And then, “I 
saw Blackie beatin’ it across the yards about a mile 
back.”’ 

“Well,” exclaimed Jock, “say nothin’ about it, 


[246] 


Surprise 
kid. A guy that kin pull a stunt like that deserves to 
go free. I don’t think he meant you no harm. He had 
to red-light you, too.” 

“Gosh! I wonder what he’d think if he knew I 
made the train again.” 

“He wouldn’t be surprised. He’d have made it if 
you'd of red-lighted him. He’s just a hell of a guy, 
that’s all.” 

Jock put on his soft grease-stained hat. “We'd 
better go an’ tell the Baby Buzzard together, kid, 
but don’t mention seein’ Blackie. Let him make his 
getaway. I wouldn’t turn a dog over to the law.” 

“All right, Jock,” I muttered, and followed him 
out of the car. 


[247] 


XVII: A Railroad Order 


XVII: A Railroad Order 


HE misty morning at last turned clear. The 

4 sunshone bright. We walked toward the Baby 

Buzzard’s car. In a few words I told my story. The 
Baby Buzzard’s eyes narrowed. 

“Who'd you say red-lighted ’em?” 

I told her again. 

“What become of him?” she asked. 

“That don’t matter,’ answered Jock, “‘it’s what'll 
become of them if we don’t get ’em. Maybe they’re 
hurt, or even killed.” 

The Baby Buzzard sneered. “Killed hell. No sich 
luck for some of ’em.”? Then quickly, “Come with 
me. 

We followed her toward the engine. The fireman 
leaned out of the left window and watched the en- 
gineer oil the large drive wheels. 

The Baby Buzzard approached him and asked, 
“Are you a runnin’ this here train?” 

“I was, till it stopped,” he answered with irri- 
tation. 

The engineer’s answer angered the Baby Buzzard. 


[251] 


sind: aa ale 


Circus Parade 


“Well, would you mind runnin’ your damn train 
back about fifty mile an’ pickin’ up my husban’ and 
some more of his men that got red-lighted with the 
kid here.” 

“Not me, lady. I’m all through. I’ve been smellin’ 
this circus long enough. You'll have to tell your 
troubles to the trainmaster. He’s right over in that 
corner of the round house.” 3 

We walked across the tracks in the direction of 
the round house, a place in which the engines were 
kept like so many automobiles in a huge round 
garage. The Baby Buzzard hobbled along with us, 
delivering a scathing remark toward the engineer, 
which ran, “The nerve o’ that devil. No wonder poor 
people git no wheres in this world. They’re too damn 
saucy.” 

The trainmaster had one arm and a happy smile. 
His hair was sandy, his face the color of an over- 
ripe mulberry. He telephoned the chief train des- 
patcher and asked, ““What’s due out of 2 Boss 
of the circus and some other fellows made to walk 
the plank.” 

Turning to me—“You say it was about fifty miles 
out? No towns between of any size?” 

“No sir.” 


The despatcher made answer! 


[252] 


A Railroad Order 


“Then Number Four’ll ketch ’em if they’ve stayed 
close to the track. All right—tell conductor Number 
Four to be on lookout for them—bring ’em on in 
here.” 

“How long’ll it be?” 

“About three or four hours, lady.” 

The Baby Buzzard grunted and walked away. 
“Pay the railroads all the damn money you make 
an’ then they can’t do you a little favor. Have to 
wait all this time to git started.” 

The Baby Buzzard lost no time in getting the 
circus unloaded. The property boss was given Silver 
Moon Dugan’s work to do. Buddy Conroy took 
charge in place of Slug Finnerty. 

She hobbled about snapping orders. The men 
cursed her under their breath. 

An old “roughneck”’ canvasman and stake-driver 
laid out the tent on the lot. And to the surprise of 
all it was done as well as Dugan could have accom- 
plished. 

Jock gave me some dry clothes and allowed me 
to sleep until time for the parade to return. All 
that day I basked in my little glory. 

Number Four arrived after dinner with its di- 
versified cargo. 

Cameron with both legs broken, was carried out 


[2531] 


Circus Parade 


of the caboose. On his face was scorn for his posi- 
tion and pity for himself. 

The entire circus gathered about the train. Silver 
Moon Dugan looked ashamed. His limp was more 
decided. 

“‘How’s hittin’ the ties, Silver?” yelled a voice. 

*““Go to hell,” was Silver’s retort. 

The Ghost and Gorilla Halen were unhurt. 

Back of them came the young fellow whom Silver 
Moon Dugan had red-lighted. 

His clothing was badly torn, his face deeply 
scratched. : 

As I had spread the story of his first having been 
red-lighted by Dugan, his appearance was greeted 
with a wild shout. 

A doctor was called. He pulled and twisted at 
Cameron’s legs, and then put them in crude plaster 
casts. The battered barbarian looked at them when 
the doctor had finished. He glanced then at the 
Baby Buzzard and shook his head violently, at last 
snapping out: 

“God damn the God damned luck!” 

One of the hardest, the most merciless, and the 
meanest of mankind, who had red-lighted many men 
himself and who had cheated many hundreds in his 
wandering life, he added: 


[254] 


. . = mat gts ie Ones a 
us ? Sa aS. i ae Tw — 
See ee se eee 


A Railroad Order 


“That man ain’t human. He’s lower’n a skunk’s 
belly.” 

“Well he’s hard enough to be human,” sneered 
Silver Moon Dugan, “and I’ve seen him somewhere. 
It seems to me he pulled a fast one with Robinson’s 
five or six years ago. Believe me or not, if J ever put 
my glims on ’im agin there’ll be music along this 
railroad. Pll play ‘Home Sweet Home’ on his God 
damn ribs with bullets.” 

Cameron tried to turn over. His body twitched 
with pain. : 

“You're a tune too late, Silver. You’ll never see 
that bozo this side of hell.” His eyes were bleared 
with the wind and rain of the night. They were 
crossed for a moment with clouds of humor. 

“But you gotta say this, Silver, you done met 
your match in that greaser.” 

“IT have like so much hell,” returned Silver Moon 
Dugan. 

Cameron, oblivious of the retort, added: 

“It’s funny about people. The minute I saw that 
guy I felt like apologizin’ for ownin’ the show. 
That’s the kind of a guy he was. His damn hard 
eyes were like diamond drills an’ his nose hooked 
like a buzzard’s. He’s no regular roughneck, I knew 
it, but what’n hell is he?” 


[255] 


Circus Parade 


The Baby Buzzard, never soft, looked down at 
the hulk with broken legs. She started to say some- 
thing, changed her mind, then turned to me. Her 
flat and aged breast rose once, then sank. An emo- 
tion was killed within her. 

In all the months she displayed no interest in me, 
save that I could read well aloud—and now: 

“Where you from, kid?” 

“Oh, I’m just a drifter. Joined on in Louisiana 
before the Lion Tamer got bumped off.” 

“That’s right. I’'d forgot,” she returned. “Did 
that lousy wretch take your money too?” 

“My last two bits,” I replied. 

The Baby Buzzard allowed herself the shadow of 
a grin. Then for fear of being too BeneIOUE with 
herself, she frowned. 

“Damn his hide, the nerve. A guy that'd do that 
ud skin a louse for its hide.” 

She handed me a half dollar. Clutching it in my 
hand I returned to Jock. 

Cameron insisted on being present each time the 
tent was pitched, A covered wagon was turned over 
to him, the canvas on each side being made to roll 
up like curtains. It was roped off from the gaze of 
the public. Here he would lie like a flabby, wounded 


[256] 


A Railroad Order 


but unbeaten general directing his forces. I was his 
errand boy. 

The circus was to close in a week. The nights 
even in the South were now cold. Frost covered 
everything each morning. Roughnecks, musicians, 
acrobats, all talked of a headquarters for the winter. 

Cameron’s reputation as a red-lighter had been 
accentuated by his own catastrophe. “He’ll have to 
pay us now, the old devil. He can’t make a gitaway 
on broken pins,”’ was the comment of the old rough- 
neck who had laid out the tents in Silver Moon Du- 
gan’s absence. 

But nevertheless we were all worried about our 
wages. If we allowed the show to go into head- 
quarters in another state it would be impossible to 
collect. We would not be allowed to go near Camer- 
on’s headquarters. Citizens and police would protect 
Cameron against the claims of circus hoboes. Such 
communities had always protected Cameron and his 
tribe of red-lighting circus owners from the ravages 
of roughnecks who wanted justice. 

I could feel the tension on the lot. Many of the 
older canvasmen had what is known as a “month’s 
holdback” due them, twenty or thirty dollars for a 
month of drudging labor. It was wealth to men of 


[2571] 


Circus Parade 


our kind to whom a dollar was often opulence. 

The final pay-day would cost Cameron several 
thousand dollars. How would he face the situation 
with two broken legs? We all wondered. 

“You'll git yours, kid, don’t worry,’ Jock had 
assured me. But even then, I was not so sure. 

To ease my mind I talked over the matter in- 
directly with the Baby Buzzard. 

“Gosh, I'll feel rich next Thursday, when the 
show closes,” I said to her. 

“What for?’ she asked. “Money only runes 
people like you. You won’t do nothin’ with it but 
git drunk an’ go to whore houses an’ git your back- 
bones weak.” 

I passed the word along. It made us more de- 
termined to collect than ever. 


[258] 


XVIII: The Last Day 


“3 
E 
3 


XVIII: The Last Day 


UTTING up the tent was a spasmodic effort 
on the last day. 

_ A feeling of uneasiness pervaded the lot. A half 
dozen roughnecks rejoined us. They had deserted the 
show after the hey rube fight. 

“What? You back?” roared Silver Moon Du- 
gan, as they advanced in a body toward him. 

“Yeap, what’s left of us, Silver,” the ringleader 
replied insolently. “An’ we want our dough, too. 
This is pay day, you know.” 

Dugan parleyed with them no more. They either 
looked too formidable, or he had other plans. No 
attempt was made to “‘chase ’em off the lot.” 

Instead, Dugan hurried to Cameron. They were 
soon joined by Finnerty, Jock and the Baby Buz- 
zard. I went with Jock. 

Jock’s heart was never with Cameron. He loved 
morphine and horses. Life was to him, except when 
he had ‘‘a habit on,’ a dream that had broken in 
the middle and had left him dazed. Every horse 
had his love. He was all pity when he saw a galled 


[261] 


Circus Parade 


shoulder or spavin on any animal, whether it were 
in his keeping or not. 

The “paste brigade” awaited our arrival. Travel- 
ing days ahead of us in the advance car, they were 
now ready to go into winter headquarters with 
buckets, paste and several unused tons of vari- 
colored circus advertising. 

Giant yellow, red and green posters everywhere 
announced Cameron’s “‘acres of tents.” 

The paste brigade and other advance men left 
in their car at noon after a long parley with Cam- 
eron. 

One of the paste slingers waved some greenbacks 
at us. 

It made us more hopeful of being paid that day. 

Word was soon spread that we were to be given 
our wages next day at Cameron’s winter head- 
quarters. A feeling of rebellion followed. 

Silver Moon Dugan exerted himself to keep his 
canvasmen from mixing with their six former com- 
rades. To avoid open warfare he used all the crude 
diplomacy of which he was capable. 

He realized that if the local police were called 
in there would be a great deal of damage done. An- 
other general hey rube fight might result. 

By an underground current the workingmen had 


[262] 


The Last Day 


decided that Cameron was to pay or the circus would 
not move. 

Cameron’s legs were heavily plastered and held 
high above his head with a rope and pulley. In spite 
of this he was half propped up in his bed when we 
arrived. 

The canvas curtains were down on each side of 
the wagon. The Baby Buzzard rose when I entered. 
Her manner was very kind. I sensed what was to 
follow. 

Presently Goosey and the property boss entered. 
There was much random talk of the situation, then 
Jock’s voice: 

“Don’t try it, I’m tellin’ you, you'll never move 
the show.” 

“Well we can’t pay ’em here. We’ve got to figger 
things up an’ it'll take till tomorrow to do it,” said 
Finnerty. 

Jock interrupted with, “Well it’s no skin off my 
beak, but I’ve gotta play half-square. All I’m tellin’ 
you is—don’t.” 

“Well, the boss has a right to pay tomorrow if he 
likes,” snapped Silver Moon Dugan. “You'll have 
the dough for your bunch. That'll let you out.” 

“But it won’t let you fellows out,” Jock looked 
down at Cameron. Finnerty rubbed his one eye. 


[263] 


Circus Parade 


“Oh hell,” he said, ‘‘tell °em to come to winter 
headquarters for their money. Who gives a damn 
about a lot of hoboes, anyhow. Money spoils bums, 
that’s my opinion.” 

“Same here,” snapped the Baby Buzzard. 

Cameron motioned to me. 

“Here, kid, take this message to the men. Just tell 
"em I said pay-day was tomorrow. At two o'clock 
every man will get his bonus and we'll have a big 
barbecue in the evening.” 

Jock followed me out. Together we walked in 
the direction of the horses. There was a blare of 
music along the midway. 

A strong wind began to blow. Tiny pieces of paper 
and empty peanut sacks whirled about the lot. Jock 
said nothing to me. He walked slowly, and save for 
a nervous twitching about the mouth was calm. 

“We'll go tell ’em, kid,” he said at last, “but 
tell °em I got the money for my squad today. You 
should worry, you’ll never want to travel with this 
damned outfit again anyhow. This is goin’ to be the 
damndest blow-off Cameron ever had. I can feel it 
in the air.” 

The men received Cameron’s message with sullen 
contempt. They stood in groups about the lot. 

When the last rube had gone home, and while 


[264] 


The Last Day 


the wind swirled across the lot carrying the debris 
of a rustic holiday with it, at least a hundred and 
fifty men marched toward Cameron’s wagon. 

Down the midway they came, Rosebud Bates in 
the lead playing on the clarinet. 


There'll be a hot time in the old town tonight. 


Back of Rosebud Bates was Blackie. 

His appearance startled me. I could hardly be- 
lieve my eyes. 

“I knew he’d show up again, by God,” said Jock. 
Blackie’s eyes were wild in his face. 

“Is he drunk?” I asked Jock. 

“Nope. He’s full o’ heroin.” 

The six roughnecks who had appeared early were 
with him, three on each side. Their eyes, less vivid, 
still had something of the same expression as Black- 
ie’s. Each of their right hands were in their right 
coat pockets. Their coats were jerked sideways as 
their arms swung. Blackie’s coat was unbuttoned. 
Experience had taught me that the hands gripped 
revolvers in the coat pockets. If trouble came, the 
bullets would rip through the cloth. 

They marched directly to Cameron’s wagon. 

“Good Lord, Jock, what'll happen?” I asked. 


[2657] 


Circus Parade 
“Anything. When guys are loaded up on heroin 


itll give ’°em more nerve an’ make ’em more des- — 


perate an’ make ’em think faster’n anything on 
earth.” He grunted. “‘Cameron’s in trouble sure as 
hell. I just know now that Blackie was loaded when 
he red-lighted you guys.” 


A shot was fired from the rear of the wagon. 


Blackie, untouched, started running toward it. The 
others followed him. 

Silver Moon Dugan and Finnerty stood near the 
rear wheel. 

“Thought you’d git me quick, did you, Silver,” 
sneered Blackie, hand held high in his coat pocket. 
Dugan hesitated, his mind not as alert as Blackie’s 
who was on fire with murderous heroin. 

Blackie fired. The bullet crashed through the thick 
muscle of Dugan’s right arm. 

He groaned dismally. The gun dropped. One of 
Blackie’s comrades picked it up. 

Blackie then stepped in close. His immense arm 
went upward. There followed a bone-crushing thud. 
Dugan’s jaw cracked. He sank. 

Finnerty, dumbfounded by the suddenness of 
Blackie’s action, held his hands up as if to plead. 
Blackie sprang at him with the agility of a moun- 
tain panther. 


[266] 


_ 


The Last Day 


His hand left his pocket, clinging to his blue 
revolver. Half circling, he twisted Finnerty’s body 
until it seemed he would break his back. Then his 
monstrous arm went around Finnerty’s throat like 
a vise. 

“Search the rat. Quick,” he yelled. 

_ Two men pounced upon Finnerty ripped a watch 
and chain from his breast and went through his 
pockets swiftly. In another instant Blackie’s 
gun thudded brutally against his jaw. It tore Fin- 
nerty’s flesh and covered his one good eye with 
blood. 

The men surrounded the wagon. “Keep a gun on 
these birds,’’ snapped Blackie. A roughneck stood 
over the unconscious Finnerty and Dugan. 

Gorilla Haley and four others of Dugan’s hench- 
men ran quickly toward the wagon. They were 
caught like mice in a trap. 

Blackie saw them and yelled, “Hey Rube! Du- 
gan’s stool pigeons! Let ’em have it!” 

Cameron lay in his bed helpless while the Baby 
Buzzard shrieked curses. 

“Ain't they a man among you, you God damn 
crummy varmints.” 

Her shrieks were soon lost in the avalanche of 
brutality that followed. 


[267)] 


Circus Parade 


The “Ghost” collapsed in fear before a fist 
reached him. 

“Give him the boot,” yelled Blackie. His face and 
body were quickly kicked beyond recognition. 

He squirmed on the ground like a mass of blub- 
ber and then became rigid. 

The rest were annihilated by more than a hun- 
dred circus roughnecks, a tribe of men the equal of 
which in sheer courage and primitive fighting ability 
no frontier country in the world’s history has ever 
produced. 

Recruited from the roughest of the rough, sur- 
viving hunger, cold, dreary and seemingly endless 
hours of labor without fatigue, they were now in 
their proper element. 

Gorilla Haley, the seasoned fighter, did imme- 
diately that which had made his name a byword in 
annals of circus barbarism. He looked about quickly 
and backed against the wagon so that no one could 
get behind him. He would at least be able to see his 
antagonists. 

“He'll get it anyhow,” said Jock, “the damn 
fool. It’s not his circus. They’ll murder him.” 

Gorilla Haley was everything in the human calen- 
dar of vices. But he was not a coward. 

Weighing at least two hundred and forty pounds 
[2687 | 


The Last Day 


of muscles, his immense sparse body bent low, his 
long arms reached out with fierce blows and warded 
off the attacks of a dozen men. Blackie shouted, 
“Lay off, men, I'll give him a chance and take him 
myself.” 

The wind had died down for a few moments. 
Combined with the temporary lull of voices, the 
effect was spectral. 

The mind even in great danger often sees pic- 
tures for an instant that are remembered a lifetime. 
I threw my head back from sheer fatigue of excite- 
ment. 

Above me was a deep blue sky dotted with shin- 
ing regiments of wonder. An immense silver and 
blue cloud seemed hung suspended in the center of 
the blue dome. 

Tired and wretched at the end of a long season 
of migratory labor, with nothing but the insecurity 
of a gypsy at the finish, I still had left that mightiest 
heritage of toil-worn men—a sense of wonder. 

To the left was the Milky Way. A half Pawnee 
Indian stake-driver, long since red-lighted, had told 
me one night as our train traveled through an edge 
of Kansas that the Milky Way was only white dust 
made by a horse ten miles high and a buffalo even 
taller, racing like hell and high water across the 


[269] 


Circus Parade 


sky. He told me that the horse ran on one side where 
the biggest stars were; that the buffalo made the 
little dust. | 

Reality blotted out the sky. The lull ended. 

Blackie, not so ponderous as Gorilla Haley, closed 
in upon him as we formed a ring around them. Never 
_ was there fiercer impact. Their foreheads crashed 
together. Stunned, Gorilla’s knees sagged. Blackie’s 
wild eyes danced like a vicious animal’s. He tore 
the clothing from Gorilla’s body as he yelled, “I 
like to fight ’em naked.” 

The cloud darkened and ran down the sky on all 
sides like spilled ink. The wind came up. It thun- 
dered. Rain drops rattled on the paper-strewn 
ground, 7 

Into the fusillade of blows Blackie stepped. One 
caught him across the nose and the blood streamed. 
Angered to a pitch of even fiercer fury, he struck 
with accurate aim at Gorilla’s head and body. 

With clothing torn from their bodies they cursed 
each other through lacerated lips. They broke apart 
and crashed together again. Breasts heaving, faces 
trickling blood, they reeled, punch-drunk, under the 
brain-jarring monotony of blows. 

The men pushed in closer and the fighters had 
barely room in which to move. All of Gorilla’s cau- 


[270] 


er 4 ee. aa a ed + Se ee ‘es a 
Sas Pas ee so ae ee eh ss sal a 2 


The Last Day 


tion was not enough. A black jack crashed upon his 
skull as Blackie’s mallet fist connected under his 
chin. He fell instantly. Blackie kicked him in the 
face. 

One of the six roughnecks rushed up to Blackie. 
“T done it! I done it!” he shouted. 

Blackie looked toward the big top and yelled, 
“Hurray! !? 

Instantly the circus grounds were lit like day. 

There came the shrill neighing of horses, and the 
whining of other animals. 

“The big top’s on fire,” shouted the army of 
roustabouts. Forgetting money, they all ran toward 
the burning tent. 

“Let ’er burn,” yelled Blackie as he sprang into 
Cameron’s wagon followed by the six roughnecks. 

The curtains of the wagon were ripped off. 

“Where’s your money, you broken-legged old 
faker? This is pay-day. I’ve got three weeks’ wages 
comin’. Do you think I swing a sledge for you for 
nothing?” And Blackie danced a jig before the 
prostrate Cameron, saying, “The boobs love a fire. 
It gets them every time.” 

Sheets of white and yellow flame crackled up- 
ward. 

The Baby Buzzard rushed at Blackie, her with- 


. [271] 


Circus Parade 


ered fists clenched. “Hold this old rip,’ shouted 
Blackie. 

One of the men grabbed her carelessly. She 
scratched and bit until he pinioned her arms. An- 
other man held her legs. 

Cameron raised his hand. ‘“Won’t you listen a 
moment, gentlemen?” 

Then the cry reached his ears, ““The main tent’s 
burnin’.”’ 

The magnificent old ruffian jerked his plas- 
tered legs from their moorings and tried to stand 
erect. 

The crackling flames mingled with the roar of 
lions and the wails of hyenas. The elephants trump- 
eted. A panther screamed like a woman. 

Cameron stood erect and tried to walk. The seven 
desperadoes laughed as he fell backward. 

Blackie, eyes blazing, stepped close to his cot and 
slapped his face. 

‘You don’t remember red-lightin’ me, do you, you 
old double crossing bastard? Well, I do. And you 
didn’t break my legs neither. But to hell with that. 
It’s money we want. I’m paymaster now. Where’s 
the money?” | a 

Blackie laughed like a maniac. The old man lay 


silent. 


[272] 


The Last Day 


The noises increased. Men shouted everywhere. 
_ The flames brightened. 

“The old paraffine tent burns like dry matches,”’ 
exclaimed an excited canvasman. Cameron heard 
the words. 

A more deathly calm came over him. ‘Who 
started the fire?” he asked dully, rubbing his bleared 
and tired eyes. 

““Where’s the money?’ shouted Blackie. 

The circus owner’s mouth went tighter still. He 
glared at Blackie. The seven men edged closer 
about the cot. 

“All right, you won’t talk?” Blackie held a gun 
at Cameron’s temple. The broken-legged circus own- 
er’s eyes closed as though awaiting a bullet to rip 
through his head. 

Blackie put his left foot forward. His body was 
tense. Death was five inches from Cameron’s brain. 
Blackie’s finger rubbed the trigger. 

The Baby Buzzard screamed shrilly, her nerve 
broken: 

“Under his bed. Under his bed.” 

Blackie withdrew the gun. The cot was pushed to 
one side. The undaunted Cameron tried to leap upon 
Blackie as he stooped for the money, secure in heavy 
sacks in an open safe. 


[273] 


Circus Parade 


Blackie threw a heavy fist against Cameron’s jaw. 
His plastered legs spread out. His head went back- 
ward. He lay still. 

“Now it’s pay-day, men.” Blackie motioned to 
the six cronies. “Hold the guns level. If anybody 
comes near, spatter his brains out.” 

The Baby Buzzard was tied with a rope and 
placed by Cameron’s side. Blackie then ordered Fin- 
nerty and Dugan tied. 

The wagon was overturned. The old lady 
screamed. 

“Shut up or we'll burn it,” yelled Blackie as he 
rushed into the darkness followed by the six ruffians. 


*K *K * 


Silver Moon Dugan regained consciousness and 
rolled over. The canvasmen returned and stared at 
the upturned wagon. Cameron and the Baby Buz- 
zard groaned. 

The wild confusion at last died down. 

Citizens and police, attracted by the fire, now 
swarmed the lot. 

All that was left of the big top were the three 
charred poles which had once held it. Red remnants 
of pine seats still glowed. 

The gilded circus wagons were turned black with 


[274] 


The Last Day 


heat and smoke. The wind blew the odor of burnt 
paraffine over the circus ground. 

The animals paced nervously in their cages. An 
elephant trumpeted. Two horses neighed; one after 
the other. 

Soon the lot was deserted. 

The silence of desolation reigned where the big 
top once had been. 


[2751] 


XIX: Later 


rial 

a 
eg 
avk 


XIX: Later 


O trace of Blackie or his comrades could be 

found, The police asked many questions, and 
left. The circus roustabouts looked at each other 
sheepishly. 

Silver Moon Dugan was taken to the hospital, 
his arm shot away. 

Gorilla Haley’s skull was fractured. He later be- 
came a member of the Chicago police. 

Finnerty, beaten but not broken, took charge of 
everything. He stood at the end of Cameron’s 
wagon, which had been placed upright again. Cam- 
eron, his jaw bandaged, was in a half-sitting posi- 
tion as Finnerty addressed the men: 

“We have shared danger together, gentlemen, and 
now we have endured robbery. It was our intention 
to pay you each and all, here this evening, but 
that, alas, cannot now be done. 

“But we hold you no ill-will. Your mistake, if 
any, was of the head rather than of the heart.” 

As Finnerty continued the men became more 
shamefaced and uneasy. 


[279] 


Circus Parade 


“T will wire our headquarters at Mr. Cameron’s 
suggestion tonight.” Cameron, feeling his bandaged 
jaw, nodded his approval. 

“The money to pay each and every one of Cam- 
eron’s World’s Greatest Combined Shows will be 
here in the morning. I will meet you in front of the 
post office at eleven tomorrow and pay you. Those 
who would rather travel on to headquarters may 
do so.” 

The circus was loaded with alacrity. 

At ten o’clock next morning the men marched in 
a body toward the post office. 

Finnerty left with them. At ten forty-five the 
circus train departed for winter headquarters. 

Finnerty was aboard. 

¥ 


[280] 


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